Wild Roses
by JeffC FTW
Summary: A newer, magical glimpse into the Batman lore, after the events of The Dark Knight. Sinéad, a young Irish artist in Gotham City, meets and forms a relationship with Jonathan Crane, and the two collide with a tormented billionaire and other familiar, colorful characters before embarking on the adventure of a lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

**I bring a new, fresh take on the Batman mythos, combined with more fantasy elements from other cultural mythologies in existence, even inspired by other movies I have loved since I was a kid. I had written this two years ago for the fun of it, but I didn't publish at first because of an idea that came from one of CrowsAce's stories which inspired me to bring to life (more on that later). But now I found it in me to put this out for all to enjoy, and CrowsAce has been looking forward to this based on a few PM conversations. :D**

 **It's been awhile since I wrote for Batman - especially Jonathan Crane, who is one of the main leads, along with an OC of mine who becomes his love interest, as well as Bruce Wayne himself and other characters we know. :D The "Mummy" movies starring Brendan Fraser also come as part of the plot much later on. Each character has an expansion of themselves and a tie to mythological characters; they are so different that they actually work well together.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing of this, except my OC.**

Chapter One

The bar was packed tonight. Lights flashed wildly as the dancers worked themselves off for the big bad pigs eyeing them like they were hungry for a fresh piece of meat. Drunken old men slurred over the latest game playing on the flatscreen. Hormonal teenagers wasted away on booze and meaningless pleasures.

"Oh, would you look at that? The guys are getting ready to show their tippers what they got."

Every Monday night was "Gay Night" at Adisa's Bar on Blue Grave Avenue. Bigger tips and bills made meant bigger bonuses for both the owner and the employees. Every Monday night, young men - mainly the pretty boys - would don nothing much like what female strippers would; they would instead sport crisp collar shirts and dress pants and eventually strip down to costumes pointing in the direction of BDSM. Male strippers hadn't really been her specialty or interest, but the job and her decent payments on these nights were worth keeping the apartment she shared with her kid.

Four years of abandoning her tragedy-filled former life - including the death of one boyfriend and the self-imposed exile of another - had changed her for bad or worse, being a tie-breaker. After a near-death experience that made everyone believe she was dead - friends and foes alike - she'd decided that it was safe to remain low for now. _Well, it's been nearly four years, and here I am, living the mediocre life with my only child off my last boyfriend. Who for all I know hasn't been seen in public since…well, me_.

Her best and only friend whom she'd made since offered a job here at Adisa's was none other than Anna Ramirez, a former cop from Major Crimes Unit who quit because she'd worked for the mob and went into hiding following her mother's death, nudged her out of her thoughts. "Eve, did you hear me? The boys are showing." Her face was schooled into an expressionless mask.

The lovely brunette bartender in a plain white t-shirt that read "Life is a Marathon…And You Don't Win by Sitting" - her name tag pinned above her right breast reading "Evelyn Miller" - looked up and paused in polishing an empty glass that had once been filled with a daiquiri without the alcohol. A clue that the drinker was a good kid who only wanted to have an innocent night of fun with no trouble. _It's ironic that so many of these youngsters are in for a bad time_ , she thought.

She watched as the youthful male dancers - masculine and feminine-faced alike - exited from behind the dark blue curtain and marched for their poles. They all were clad in previously mentioned collared shirts and pants with bare feet. The women's aged boss, Al, always called these boys "once promising but down-to-the-ground." Meaning they had so much going on but chose to throw it away for personal reasons.

She snorted. _Yeah, I know the case with a certain one right in front of my eyes right now_.

Said male dancer's hips were swishing not-so-innocently like his fellows, and he stood out from the others in this sense in that he was not looking forward to this night but for one purpose only: he just wanted the extra payments to keep the apartment he had as he had nothing else to make of himself. Like the others, he wore a white shirt and tight black pants...but beneath was an immense surprise for the customers drooling over him. She rolled her eyes inwardly as she worked on the tray of assorted beverages for the newest orders.

The dancer thrusted his hips against his assigned pole atop a table; his shirt was opened from top to bottom to reveal a lean, pallid chest and stomach underneath a crisscross network of black leather straps. His hips still swaying, his belt was unbuckled before the front of his trousers was next, and upon removal, there was a black leather underpiece that was a thong once he turned around. One leg wrapped around the pole, and his body arched back so his hair appeared to be longer than it actually was, and he briefly locked his gaze - mostly hateful - with her own, while performing for the animalistic eyeing men in the audience on this particular dancer, clearly saying the same thing: they all wanted him for the night, but only one of them had to make the move before they missed the golden opportunity at hand.

As predicted, one of the men in the audience - a stocky, unkempt version of the mountain man - left his seat and marched up to take him up off the table, taking him to one of the back rooms for "bigger tips", the disappointed groans of the other males crystal clear throughout the whole room. Anna clucked her tongue and threw the white rag she'd used to polish the table over her shoulder as she picked up the tray of shots. "Poor boys," she said sarcastically. "They missed their big chance. But we both know they'll be back for that one."

The brunette frowned at her friend but said nothing. It didn't surprise her that Anna didn't like that particular dancer, but the least she could do was at least try to be nice to him like she'd done herself. But whenever she tried to at least be friendly with him over the last two years since he'd arrived, he would reject her with cold hostility the same way he would to everyone else around him. That part of him hadn't changed at all.

~o~

Still wearing his costume, Jonathan Crane flung himself into the restroom and dashed for the nearest toilet there was, flinging the lid open and unleashing the contents of his stomach out into the receptacle. The taste of it and that of the semen of the latest one-night-stander remained no matter how hard he tried to wash it all away afterwards. Two years of being out of Arkham Asylum... _how the mighty have fallen,_ his subconsciousness sneered.

Let's just check off what he had: a humiliating job, minimal money to make - extra on Monday nights like tonight - and nothing to live with other than to give and get THIS treatment back. Counting off numerous tries and fails to get and keep a job after a month, or even a week at most. Stripping and sex were what he'd resorted to because there were no other options left. No matter the fact he was straight as an arrow; sleeping with high-paying customers was the additional bonus allowed in this place.

He sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his tearing eyes. He stood up from the receptacle and walked back to the sink where his clothes were. The cotton shirt was given to him - courtesy of his meddlesome neighbor who happened to be a coworker and an unpleasant reminder of his past, now living as a different person and had a child, which made him ill and jealous of her. She might fare no better than he, but to know she was doing better than he was in that sense made him hate her more than he did back then. Being pleasant to him nowadays changed nothing.

He slipped the collared shirt over a white t-shirt and faded jeans he had to keep up with a belt, scowling at himself because this was not who he really was, but it was all he had. He held his head low and exited the restroom for the bar. He needed a couple drinks before walking home. As he sat down there and asked Anna - who had the nerve to give him snooty comments and then bounce from there to sugary sweet - for a tequila shot, he thought about his life from when his mother died giving birth to him, his father leaving him alone soon after with his vengeful religious grandmother, then the school bullies and finally getting mixed up with the mob and Ra's al Ghul before that...all which got the Batman to toss him in with the wolves that were once his patients.

He choked on his second drink then, wishing it would kill him then and there.

~o~

Ordinary Monday night, all right. This was how her life had turned out ever since graduating from the Art Institute of Gotham with her Masters. When Sinéad Ryan got her scholarship, she'd transferred herself away from her parents so she could live out her independence and escape the terrible memories: one being their mistreatment of her, and the other of the death of her dear grandmother five years before.

Gran Siobhán had died just before she graduated high school. Prior, she'd been the only good presence in her life, protecting her against her abusive parents, Brian and Léan Ryan. They weren't exactly what you'd call the "traumatizing effect", but they ignored her most of the time and didn't give her the love that Gran Siobhán gave her. Nor did they actually acknowledge that she literally left home without their permission on most occasions just to get away from them.

School wasn't a problem for her, but the trouble was that she had difficulties socializing with anyone. She had a few friends, but most of them were off to college as she had gone, or married. Every day then, she was the average girl who had a passion for art. She'd always dressed sensibly and yet feminine at the same time, not wanting to stand out among the popular and prissy crowd. Her long mane of black hair was always in either a ponytail or down to the end of her back. Tonight it was loose and wild like a raven's wing. The only jewelry she ever wore was the necklace around her neck - the beautiful two-toned "wild Irish rose" for any Irish woman wild at heart, capturing the the song itself which spoke of how the flower itself survived anything, even the harshest of winters. She smiled down at it and fingered it. The rose sparkled brillaintly in rose gold and silver with its diamond-accented leaves and Celtic knot stems.

Sinéad entered the bar, Adisa's, with a smile on her face. Earlier that day, she'd gone and submitted to the art studio her latest work: simple yet earthly, the lone woman a spitting image of one of this place's bartenders whom she became good friends with on her first night here; her angelic figure was graced by a long dress of soft blue shimmering realistically like satin, like moonlight dancing across the sea, her long brown hair waving over her shoulders from the effects of an imaginary wind as she stood before a background of forestry and blue skies fading to dark. The inspiration was because there was something about the woman that whispered intrigue...

Back home in Ireland, she had been in the top of her art class in high school, most of her works being styled after mythological characters, winning awards for them enough to get her scholarship. Her most well-known was a portrait of a mermaid before the gates of Atlantis, ready to leave her home and giving one last backward glance - common for anyone who was on the verge of leaving their home - before she experienced the unknown waiting for her. The mermaid had been patterned a little bit after herself, for she did it a couple weeks before leaving Ireland for good. The concept was inspired after Gran Siobhán's passing long before she left her parents for Gotham to attend school in the city, far away from Brian and Léan. There would be no way she would call them mother and father again; her feelings were too hard against them.

Anyways, the mermaid was due to her leaving home long ago. Sinéad loved mermaids; her grandmother would always tell her stories about them and other fantastical creatures of all lores back home long before she passed on. They inspired her for her works even though arts of them had been done before, but her style was different compared to others, based off of life events. She wasn't paid handsomely for her work, but at least she was happy. And as long as she had a roof over her head - which was at the end of the city and just before the slum part across the bridge - she was content.

Living the single life was the call of her soul, but it wasn't the dreamy, perfect life; nothing and nobody was perfect even though everyone strived for it. Money, in addition, had never really been a big deal for her, either.

Adisa's was a haven for the after-work crowd, as well as for stripteases namely on Mondays and Fridays - Monday for the male dancers and Friday for the females - but Sinéad was utterly disgusted by that stuff. Having been raised Catholic, this was the lair of gluttony, except she only would go out on Friday nights during high school for a couple of drinks before taking the bus back home. That habit died hard in college, and now she would stop by a couple times a week - namely because of a certain worker here and part-time male stripper who worked there. She didn't know the guy much, other than the fact that his name was Jonathan, and she didn't even bother to ask one of the female bartenders, Anna, more about him because by the way she spoke of him, she wasn't too fond of him. She would have to ask that other woman, Evelyn, because she was on the lesser side of her coworker. Al, the boss, acted as the father figure of all of them, and had been very much the same way to her he was to every one of his customers and the workers. For some reason, she felt comfortable around him unlike the way she was with Brian.

And there was something about this...Jonathan that she wanted to know more about.

She sat down on one of the barstools at the dark-wood counter, wearing a sandshell-colored gauze peasant blouse, jeans and sneakers. She looked around, taking in the clear, acrylic columns and flashing floors - and the half-naked men dancing around the poles on the tables, making her scoff in disgust and turn her eyes away. Sometimes she didn't know why Monday she would be here, but it was mostly because she found herself liking the mysterious Jonathan.

The woman with the shoulder-length brown hair, Evelyn Miller, gave her a little laugh. "If you don't like these things, I don't know why you come on Mondays and Fridays of all days," she said as she wiped off the counter and gathered the few glasses left by previous customers.

"Because today I'm in a great mood," Sinéad answered. "My latest work was accepted in today. And my boss was just telling me he was considering offering me a chance to paint for greater places. The museum, the upper elite, you name it."

"Sounds terrific." She frowned. Based on the way she said that, it sounded like Evelyn wasn't exactly too happy. Why, she had no idea, but all she could think of was bad experiences in the city that made her leave it all behind and relocate here in the slums. And _she'd_ thought the slums were bad enough.

"Yeah, and your boyfriend must be proud of you," Anna said, appearing out from the back with a tray of shots. Sinéad's good mood fell at the mention of the guy who'd broken up with her just yesterday.

"He dumped me yesterday. On the day he was supposed to take me to the game, watch the guys thrash Rapid City."

~o~

 _She had been working all night on her painting, putting on the finishing touches that she fell asleep right there at her desk, the second and last project having been pushed away from distance so that she didn't get herself smudged with the whole night's work and ruin it. It wasn't due until Monday for her boss, but she was tired as hell after the long night, and it had been the weekend that she'd finally finished after nearly two weeks of progress. The task had been longer, richer, and more complex than she was used to with another topic of choice that wasn't her favorite._

 _It was then that she snapped out of it when her alarm went off. Her desk was located before the bed on the opposite wall, so she stumbled out of the chair for her alarm clock she set for in the morning, finding the bed and collapsing onto it and pressing the snooze button. Sinéad managed to raise her sleep-leaded eyes to the time. It read nine-thirty._

 _She shrieked and bolted upwards. She had an hour and a half to get ready before he got here!_

 _Lucky for her, she was fast in her routine. She yanked off her nightshirt and ran only in her underpants for the bathroom in a flash, given she lived by herself in this average-sized apartment. She washed her hair so that it was soft, shining and weightless, applied sweet-smelling face and body cream, and dressed herself in two-shaded blue jean flares and a light green t-shirt that read "Life is Good" with the trees of the four seasons. After putting on her jewelry, she grabbed her favorite perfume bottle - it was frosted white glass with a silver metal scrolled collar decorated with delicate jeweled flowers. Spraying herself left her enveloped in abundant florals, and since she never wore makeup, she was all set._

 _Grabbing her ruffled denim jacket that matched her jeans, she dashed out the door and down the stairs to where the dark pickup truck of her boyfriend of two years was waiting for her. "How long have you waited for me?" she teased the moment she was settled inside the coziness of the truck._

 _Steven smirked as though it were obvious. "Long enough. Did you miss me?"_

 _"Mm-hmm," Sinéad purred, placing a kiss on his lips. It never failed that, after two years, she felt that he was the permanent one in her life after her last three boyfriends - the one before him in college who left her after finding her too preoccupied with her work to consider a full-commitment, the one before him who physically and verbally abused her because he was too insecure and she ended up leaving, and the very first when she was fourteen and he sixteen, her being too young and star-stuck to understand the hardworking of a relationship - and the one who actually gave a damn about her in maturity. She settled back into the seat and waited for him to start the truck. When he didn't, and just sat there staring at the wheel, she looked at him curiously. "Aren't we going, no?"_

 _Steven raised his eyes to her. "Well, what do you wanna do?"_

 _The question took her by surprise, and before she knew it, the string of questions was out her mouth. "I thought we were going to the game. Why, is there something wrong, Steven?"_

 _He looked away from her to stare ahead. "You want to just go some other time, Sinéad?"_

 _She gasped. He didn't…he didn't…he said the same thing that her previous boyfriend said to her when he broke up with her. "Oh, I get it now. You don't want us to be anymore." She sucked in a shaky breath, trying her hardest not to cry._

 _"No, no…" he tried to reason. "I did not say that. I just think that maybe…maybe we should start seeing other people."_

 _"Why does this always happen to me? Why does this always happen to me?" she whispered aloud in spite of herself._

 _"Sinéad, don't do that," Steven said with a little agitation, making her snap altogether._

 _"Why did you pick today of all times? What did I do wrong?"_

 _"It's not you. You didn't do anything wrong. It's me." Of course, the same old thing that men always used to get out of a relationship. They were so pathetic that way, like Gran Siobhán used to say. "I just…I don't know."_

 _"Of course you don't know!" Sinéad erupted, her emotions getting the best of her. She unbuckled and pushed the door open, not long before looking back with the upmost fire._

 _"You're just as bad as my last boyfriends, and I thought you were different than they ever were. Every time I lose my heart to someone,_ this happens _. Home life was bad enough, and the least I wanted was someone who worshipped me like I was special."_

 _He gave her the look of a wounded puppy. "Sinéad, I really didn't mean to hurt you -"_

 _"Well, you did. Don't bother calling or seeing me again." Just like that, she slammed the door shut and stormed back into her home. She never saw him or spoke to him again after that._

 **"Model Gift" by Joker'sOnlyFear inspired me a long time ago - if you can call two or three years a long time XD - to do Jonathan's job that he does with his life now, and so did another called "Saving You" by Bleachyaoilover; that one talked about how he was unable to get a stable job, could not do anything pleasant with his life after being released from Arkham. In that story, Rachel Dawes herself made damned sure his life was hell, as part of her revenge for him gassing her.**

 **I get this once in awhile, but I could have sworn that I might have read the "golden opportunity" phrase regarding Jonathan mentioned in a previous Batman fic, but my mind might be playing tricks on me. Like I said, I did this fic personally for myself years ago and didn't decide to put it up until now. You tend to forget things.**

 **My OC, Sinéad, was inspired by and looks like actress Elaine Cassidy, Cillian Murphy's costar from the 2001 movie "Disco Pigs" (one of his best performances as well as one of the most beautifully tragic stories in existence). Sinéad herself is also in the shoes of Marisa Tomei in the movie "Untamed Heart" (and anyone who's seen the movie recognizes the similar scene and dialogue in the flashback, as well as the girl's bad choice in men thus far; I also don't remember if the guy who breaks up with Tomei in the beginning was also named Steven, because it's been awhile since I saw the movie).**

 **In addition, the artwork Sinéad did was inspired by the beautiful "Gates of Atlantis" by LinzArcher on deviantart; the story mentioned there which worked its way into this chapter was so much like the young woman's which was born through this. The mermaid in the picture looks so much like Sinéad, too. :D All of this about her plays a vital role later on in this fic.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The discussion about** **Sinéad's taste in men, and the overall conversation dialogue itself, also came from "Untamed Heart". This is the other movie besides "The Mummy" which is basis for the story and its characters interacting. :)**

Chapter Two

"God, did he tell you why he'd dump you so heartlessly?" Evelyn Miller asked her, anger creeping into her own voice, the feeling coursing through her far worse than temperature rising. This poor girl, who had obviously been through enough in her life, didn't deserve what she got. Not. One. _Bit_. It reminded her so much of when she first told her former love, the father of her child, that they couldn't be together as long as he was needed elsewhere.

The biggest mistake she'd ever made in her life.

Sinéad let out a little moan of despair as she downed down the drink she'd ordered - a Wild Irish Rose - with haste. The sight made Evelyn worry. The thorn in a hangover the next day was this very beverage imported from the girl's native homeland. It was very foul, but Sinéad obviously was in the need for a bad taste to take her mind off the bad twenty-four-hours past. "He just said that we should start seeing other people," she said.

"Well, he's a jerk," Evelyn said, hoping it would make her feel a tad better.

But Sinéad shook her head. "All my exes were. I don't even think I'll find love ever again."

Her statement shocked both her and Anna. "Oh, girl, don't _ever_ say that!" Anna cried, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, taking a long drag. "Chances are that he'll just go crawling back to you and saying, 'Oh, Sinéad, I've missed you. Can you please take me back into your loving arms?'"

"Anna, chances of _that_ are slim to none." Evelyn snorted and looked back at the young girl on the verge of crying. "Sinéad, I've been down this road many times. You have to put your foot down, because you're too good to be walked all over by some idiot who doesn't respect your standards."

She scoffed, clearly not believing her. She stood up and reached into her purse to pay for her drink. "Yeah, well, I got other things to worry about than a broken heart right now."

Evelyn frowned as she watched her slip her jacket on. "Are you sure you'll be fine? There are a lot of crazies out there." _Except much of them have been brought in by the authorities and denied parole under the Dent Act._ Safe to say that the streets of Gotham had been clean since the death of the heroic DA. But only a scant few still lingered. No city was without crime, but Gotham was without organized crime because the Dent Act - God rest Harvey's soul - gave law enforcement teeth in its fight against the mob.

"Yes, I'll be fine." There then was the sound of a chair being knocked over, and a body thudding to the ground. All heads turned to see Jonathan Crane's body crumpled to the floor. He had ended up having one too many again. Evelyn groaned and slapped her forehead. How many times was she going to end up carrying him all the way home at this hour? Plus, her son was at home waiting for her. In less than seven months, he was going to start going to school, but the problem was that she would have a hard time trying to find an earlier time to leave work so she could pick him up afterwards.

Anna gave the fallen man a scoff. "Oh, what the hell again? I'm out of here, so you're on your own, Eve." She threw her heavy blue coat over herself and left them alone, walking past a moaning Crane and out the door. Sinéad's gasp of disbelief matched her own.

" _Cad é an ifreann?_ What the hell? Who the hell does she think she is?" the Irish native exclaimed as she rushed over to help the wasted - and clearly depressed - man off of the floor, as he seemed to match her own weight, or maybe less. It saddened Evelyn to her core. Long ago had she stopped hating him after seeing how he'd been living his life after leaving Arkham Asylum. He was her neighbor, but based on a slight peek into his home and seeing him repeat the same routine day to day - spending his days off cooped up in his small abode and barely leaving the house, days he worked serving alcohol all day, Monday nights stripping for strangers, and every night staying until closing hour even when his shift ended downing down drink after drink and then staggering out the door - each time ending with her being the one to help him home. But tonight was an exception as she needed to get home to her son as much as it hurt her.

So who would be the one to take care of Crane?

"Why does she treat him like this?" Sinéad's voice broke her out of her thoughts. "There has to be a reason, because if there isn't, then I suppose she's nothing like the friend you see her as. I sure as hell wouldn't have someone like that as my friend."

She did have a point; Anna tended to be a bitch, there were still things she couldn't stand about her, but she was still her friend, the very last person she had after losing everything she had - except for her child - and accepted her.

"Let me ask you something. What does your so-called friend have against him?"

The question caught her off-guard. This girl had no idea who Jonathan Crane was. He was fairly notorious around much of Gotham, and she was so oblivious…and yet uncaring for whom he was. Well, Evelyn wasn't planning to tell her everything just tonight. "Well, it's a long story, but for short, he used to be head doctor at the insane asylum, until the Batman - I'm sure you know the Batman, right?" Sinéad nodded. "Yeah, well, the Batman had him demoted to one of the mental patients. Let's just say that Jonathan wasn't mentally sound right from the start."

Sinéad looked at her with the wide eyes of a curious child interested in the latest bedtime story, looking like she had more questions, but just simply nodded. "Well, life must have been hard for him since he was released then, wasn't it? I've noticed how everyone looks at him with a sneer, whispering words to each other - and I don't even want to know what they say - and it all bothers me very much, indeed." She looked down when Crane moaned against the tiled surface. His face was dazed; he was on the verge of falling asleep right here on the floor.

"Sure does to me, too." Suddenly it hit her like a bolt. "Sinéad, I feel so awful asking you this, but can you take care of him for me tonight? I really need to get home to my son."

Sinéad had just finished helping Crane onto a new chair when the favor had been asked. She lifted her head, and her lush green eyes met Evelyn's blue ones. "You know, it's funny, I was just thinking of asking. I'll bring him to my place for the night."

After giving Crane's address and when her shift ended, watching the girl lead him out the front door, Evelyn finished the last of polishing the table and bringing the rest of the empty beer and shot glasses and was prepared to grab her coat when Al met her at the entrance of the back door.

"She really does have a heart, you know, Eve?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Unlike Anna. I don't even know why she treats people like this."

"I do, too," Evelyn agreed as she zipped up her black jacket that reached her waist.

Her boss and acting father figure stepped aside to let her out, but she stopped and looked back at him when she heard him sigh. "You know, experience working on me, I feel like that child's the one who could…you know, save his life."

Evelyn frowned. Save his life? What did that mean? "I don't understand."

"Well, we both know how that boy's been living his life since that god-awful place let him out. Life's putting a good weight on him, which means that with all the pressure he's been under, he could very much resort to depression and eventually suicide. I'm no psychologist, but I know that much."

She pondered this with a short, couple nods. He was absolutely right. There were likely some traces of the negative sides of mentally sound in Crane's mind, which would lead to him ending his own life one day. She couldn't let that happen. The more thrill-seeking side of her would have wanted to be rid of him before after what he did to her and the Narrows, but no. She wasn't a sadist. This was a life that was depended on.

It was then that she spotted the canvas on the wall facing her, far off, of Sinéad's own creation. It was a painting depicting a dark-haired dancer in a ruffled, backless black dress amid a swirling red background. Shortly after arriving, Sinéad had commissioned herself in making this original work of art for the club and bringing more color and character to life. Well, Al was right about one thing: if that girl could bring life to the club, then maybe she could do the same to a slowly falling apart Jonathan Crane.

Just watch.

~o~

Getting a drunken man into her home proved to be a minor challenge, and that meant having to haul him up the stairs, but it was mainly easy given that Jonathan - whatever his last name was - was barely even the same weight as her one-hundred-and-fifteen. Malnourished could be the correct term, and it broke Sinéad's heart thinking that. If that was one of the cases, then she was going to make sure he got some food in him later. The reason she decided to bring him home instead of dropping him off just like that was for a number of reasons. She didn't want him to end up uncomfortable passed out wherever he'd end up, and also because of how terrible he was looking tonight.

Good thing she left the window curtains opened to let in the city lights of Gotham pour in and illuminate half of the room, because she had to set Jonathan down on the sofa, watch him collapse against the black suede limply as a doll, then turned to turn on the lights and quickly lock the door before turning back around.

Her apartment was big compared to what any poor artist would own back home in Ireland, or any one in general. When she first bought it during college years, she thought it was a quaint "spacious, chic living space," as the Americans put it. Quaint being her word as it wasn't as grandeur as the rich would have theirs. The living room was large enough to accommodate the large black suede sofa, the Firenze coffee table, a reading corner, and a television set in a sleek black, nine-shelved arch. The soft-colored bamboo flooring allowed the light to flow freely in the apartment. Most likely if any guests' attention was caught, it would most likely be by the wall drawing not made by her, but was a favorite - the black-and-white print of a snowy path lined with trees and centered with the message _One who walks a road with love will never walk the road alone_ \- which gave the room a meaningful touch. Set before that was a fountain that you could gaze at long enough to be transported back to the mystic world of Middle Earth, where brooks soothed the soul and giant trees served as guardians of the forest; a round glass top serving as a table rested upon the branches. Lighting up the whole room - and also in her bedroom - was a contemporary chandelier of smooth white spikes that could only resemble mother-of-pearl from a distance.

She walked over to where Jonathan lay on his side, facing the doorway that led straight to her bedroom. Sinéad stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to do. She couldn't just leave him there uncomfortable on the couch once he woke up. He needed to be taken care of and comfortable.

"Come on, Jonathan, let's get you settled in." She lifted him up under the back, then flung his arm over her shoulder so she could support him the rest of the way into her bedroom. This one room of the place was pure comfort with the bed, nightstand, and vanity of incredible mahogany wood carved with vine motifs and a carved crest on the bed's headboard and footboard to set the Old World tradition. Behind the bed was a whole wall painted a cool gray with darker gray, narrow trees and bare branches for an adroit, elegant air of cool serenity. Off to the far corner was her small art studio, consisting of the easel the same color as the floor, on top of a clean, yet thick layer of white cloths, the art supplies all in place on a neat array of shelves against the wall next to the easel, and in the corner next to it all was a planted palm tree to add tropical ambience to the room. Between her "studio" and the plant was the door to her bathroom. Jonathan moaned as he lay on the bed, sighing then as he savored the feel of the fresh dark green covered with pure white orchid flowers - the picture so realistic and lush - and his head rolled to the side. Sinéad took this moment to examine him.

He looked so small and frail in his t-shirt and jeans - they fit him rather sadly if she said so - but the fact that he looked so handsome in them… She shook her head. This was how she felt about all three of her ex-boyfriends in the early stages. Add in the fact that he looked to be at least thirty-something years old, unless he was younger than that. His extremely dark hair was all over the place, and there were dark circles under his eyes; he must not get any sleep. Sinéad might be crossing the line, but she would gladly say that this man had more than one bad day other than what Evelyn was telling her.

Looking him over, she considered undressing him and slipping him into the bed, but decided against it as she would be disrespecting his privacy while he was passed out on her bed. So she settled on slipping off his socks and shoes, and his jeans, and then set his glasses on the nightstand beside him, leaving him in his t-shirt and underwear…to which she discovered, to her own embarrassment, that he was a briefs man. She quickly slipped him under the covers and draped them back over him. He moaned and settled under them for the night. Smiling down at him in all his peace and innocence, Sinéad left him to get ready for the night.

Her bathroom was just as modern as the rest of her apartment, with the glass shower stall and black sink drawers, but the rest of the appliances - tub, sink, and toilet - were all shiny, stark white while the walls and floors were cool gray sleet tiles. Next to the shower stall and between the acrylic rectangular tub was a vase fashioned also into a fountain. Water trickled down a pile of stones, illuminated with soft light, and a potted plant was on top to give it a peaceful aura. She undressed and showered and exited it to grab her nightshirt, and was about to throw it on as she stopped and gazed at herself in the mirror, half-fogged enough for her to see herself clad only in her underwear.

There it was, right above her left breast: the black ink image of a mermaid, the long hair and tail fin carefully crafted into the Celtic knot fashion. This had been on her since she was born. According to Gran Siobhán, a mermaid was who she was, and that it was no fairytale, but her life would have been in danger if anyone ever found out. Same with everyone else out there who happened to be mythical creatures of all cultures in human form, survived the centuries of their kind. That night her grandmother told her it all changed her whole life forever, but secrecy had to be sworn from then on.

Gran Siobhán's words from that night could still be heard as crystal clear:

" _The mermaid - half-woman, half-fish - is a powerful mythological figure in many parts of this world. Especially in our culture along with the water nymphs and sprites, every oceanic spirit associates with the mermaid, which represents the ethereal feminine element, whose habitat is the unknown and dangerously powerful realm of the unconscious..."_

Hidden in the top shelf of her bedroom closet was what she'd been given all those years ago, "for when the time is right." Whatever time that was she did not know, but as the saying goes: _Expect the unexpected._ She hadn't forgotten her grandmother's warnings for that. With that being said, Sinéad threw on her nightshirt and wrap her hair in a towel. Her favorite body and facial cream left her skin feeling moisturized and silky-smooth, keeping her skin radiant, youthful and smelling like fresh rain. When she went back into the bedroom, Jonathan was still sound asleep in her bed, deep in stupor and far more realistic than Sleeping Beauty…

 _Oh, that reminds me, I don't know where I'm going to sleep. I can't just have him wake up next to me in bed. He'll overreact and think I did something to him._

Except this was her bed. She didn't know what to do, but she couldn't just dump him onto the couch like this. Well, she could always explain it in the morning if he was ever that reasonable. But from what Evelyn told her, Jonathan tended to be hard to reason. He was arrogant, cocky, self-centered…

 _Or maybe there's something about him that nobody knows._ With that being said, Sinéad shut off all the lights and settled down next to a passed out Jonathan for the night, without touching him in any way that would freak him out.

~o~

Home, sweet home. Except the living wasn't as sweet as the phrase. Three things: one, she and her son lived in a neighborhood where only a few nice people lived. Two, the reason they were living here was because of what happened after the Joker's reign, resulting in her forcibly leaving everyone, let them believe she was dead. And three, this was the best the money she had left and worked hard for had to offer.

Evelyn sighed as she knocked on the door that belonged to the residence where her son stayed during the day as she worked. She was feeling really anxious at the moment, because by now the babysitter was awaiting the weekly thirty-dollar fee as soon as she returned. Well, sadly after paying rent last week, she'd been unable to pay the babysitter, Miss Mildred, who happened to also run the back alley daycare in the neighborhood. Four other women worked in it, but Miss Mildred was the head of them all. It also meant that, if you're unable to pay the fee one week, it's double the next. That's sixty dollars' worth of payment.

"Mommy!" She laughed when the little terror himself nearly smashed into her as soon as the door opened, crushing her leg in a tight hug. She bent down to pick him up and receive kisses all over her face. Come to think that when he got older he wouldn't need her much anymore. Except that was a long way off.

"Girl, you got my money?"

"Oh, yes, I do, Miss Mildred." Evelyn set her son, four-year-old Damien, down and reached into her purse to pull sixty dollars out of her wallet and hand over to the aged black woman with her gray hair tied into a painfully tight bun, wrinkly brown skin stretched across her face.

"You know I've been keeping track of how many times you hadn't been able to give me my money. This is the third time, and third time's the strike." Beady black eyes pierced through her sharper than a knife. "And you know what that saying means, right, girl?"

Evelyn sucked in a breath, feeling her son's little hand grip hers as he looked between his mother and the scary older woman who babysat him during the day. But she would not let herself and her boy be intimidated by this woman. "I know, and I am so sorry that sometimes I'm unable to give you the money depending on the week's salary -"

"Young lady, I'm running a daycare. Not a welfare."

 _An_ illegal _daycare._ But she didn't want to make Miss Mildred angrier than she already was. "I'm sorry," she settled on instead. But Miss Mildred scoffed and shook her head.

"Now, I know you bounced from one daycare center to another over the last few years, so you better be glad that mine is one that'll let you leave your child here while you're off getting money from a haven of male and female whores, drunken apes, and wasted youths. But let me give you a warning: next time I won't keep your boy another minute." With that, she slammed the door in Evelyn's face.

"Bitch," she hissed under her breath so Damien wouldn't hear. "Come on, baby."

"Would she really kick me out, Mommy?" he asked as they began the walk down the three blocks to their home.

"I hope not," was all Evelyn could tell him. They walked in silence the rest of the way home. Their home on the third floor, still on Blue Grave Avenue, was humble, but it wasn't ratty. It was warm and inviting, natural in lighting and color. The space in every room was white in the walls, with soft honey hardwood floors, and beige carpeting in the living room and two bedrooms. Except the kitchen, with the dining area in the same room, had tiled floors and an open space, paired with quaintness to her liking when she first bought it. The living area had an amazing space for everything that was required in a home, from the television to the sofa and loveseat, to the basket-weave coffee table, and to a play area in the corner for Damien. There was a doorway in the kitchen that led right into Damien's bedroom, but from the living room was the door to the mother's room.

It was here now that Evelyn stood in, removing her jacket and throwing it onto the bed. The bed, vanity, and nightstand were all simply carved black wood, no ornamentation or fancy scrollwork or anything, and the bedcovers were simply white with a few mahogany pillows for more color. Resting on the nightstand was the black lamp with a white shade to match the wall behind it, the alarm clock…

…and an antique-framed portrait of herself and the man she loved. Long before her world shattered, back when her hair was longer than it was now, and times when she was making contributions to the city even though it was an outkill battle. And back when her name wasn't Evelyn Miller.

Rachel Dawes felt the tears sting her eyes as she lifted the portrait to her face, wishing that the opportunity came when she could have the family she wanted. Her, Bruce, and Damien - the complete family, in Wayne Manor, just as it should be.

 **So, yup. "Evelyn Miller" is really Rachel Dawes. :D She got pregnant with Bruce's child not long after SURVIVING the explosion, but that explanation will be revealed later. And better yet: he's named DAMIEN, and it was a good idea from the start. Also, in case anyone is wondering about her and the note she left Bruce, that will also be revealed in time.**

 **Sinéad's apartment and all its contents are items from real life, though I no longer have the sources I got them from, as well as their descriptions which are actually as written. Anyone familiar is able to recognize them, or not. I really wanted her to have a contemporary feel - and the fact she is a MERMAID in human form. :D Thanks to CrowsAce for that idea, and a mermaid brought up on my part. As well, thanks to the quoted research I did on this creature I've loved since I was a kid.**

 **Drunk Jonathan also was inspired by the fourth and fifth chapters of "Every Other Way" by SamuraiSmee, one of my favorite Bruce/Jonathan fics. XD**

 **Miss Mildred, the mean babysitter, and some of the lines were from "Meet the Browns" a Tyler Perry comedy I love so much, but the actual character from the movie is actually more understanding than this one.**


	3. Chapter 3

**It had been awhile since I last spoke to fellow author SamuraiSmee about their fic "Every Other Way", and like I said last time, it's one of my favorite Jonathan Crane stories. :D In the fourth chapter, Jonathan had gone out and gotten drunk and was about to be molested by one of Joker's men before being rescued by Batman, who in return takes him off into protection from the Clown Prince of Crime.**

 **No one is even reviewing. :'( Can anyone please leave me something without flaming me? Good old detail is appreciated.**

Chapter Three

 _"Gran, what is that?"_

 _The small girl looked at the bundle that her grandmother had brought into her bedroom just as she was getting tucked in at eight o'clock sharp. The package was wrapped in brown paper, tied together with ancient rope. Whatever was in there, she was curious._

 _Her grandmother gave a small laugh. "Something I've been meaning to give you for some time now. Something that you'll have use of when you're older."_

 _"What is it?" The girl's curiosity grew all the more, but her grandmother put her finger to her lips._

" _Nothing that your parents can know of. You do not want to face their wrath, do you?" The child quivered; no, she did not want to experience whippings and hurtful words again from the people who were supposed to protect her and love her like this woman did. She shook her head._

" _Good girl. But I should give this to you in case my time is ever up. Inside is everything I am passing down to you, but no one can ever know of this…unless there are people you can trust with this secret. Someday there will come certain burdens, and you must be ready for anything unexpected. Protect yourself and everyone you love - and everyone else around you - no matter what. There are the good ones in the tales that exist out there…and there are the bad ones."_

" _Oooh, the faeries, elves, phoenixes, and the others are out there?" The little girl, eight years old at most, barely nine, loved the fairytales and folktales her granny would indulge her with behind the backs of her parents. Her gran nodded._

" _Yes, they are, dear Sinéad. But you must know this, a secret that may or may not be as much of a burden to you later on in life more than it will be now, as long as you do_ not _breathe a word of it to anyone." Her grandmother's voice was firm and made crystal clear, and she understood. "So, your life begins with the story of the_ merrow _people, the most gentle, most affectionate creatures ever to exist in our proud, mysterious Irish culture…"_

~o~

The minute he opened his eyes, the first thing he certified was his pounding head. Jonathan moaned as he reached up to rub his eyes, getting rid of the sleep. Light blinded him, and he squeezed his eyes shut again before opening them as he got used to it. He grunted as he sat up, bones aching and almost snapping with each movement.

"Huh...where am I?" he murmured when he glimpsed the bed he found himself sleeping in if not his futon or even a couch. Not to mention, the comforter was a vivid green covered with an almost realistic spread of white flowers that glowed in the light from the wide window next to the bed. The throbbing of his head was a memento of last night when he drank away his sorrows to temporary avail _again...and fell to the floor, as always. Someone brought me to bed - but who if not Dawes?_ And where were his _glasses_? He registered that the room was bright in palette, but he needed his glasses to see better. Turning to his left, he saw a nightstand sitting there, and the glint there told him his glasses were there. He reached over and picked them up and placed them on the bridge of his nose.

And then his vision snapped into view.

 _Where the hell am I?_ He definitely wasn't in his own apartment, nor was he in Dawes' place - no, he wasn't allowed to call her by her real name given she was in hiding - because hers was calmer and cleaner than his own rathole place. No, this room was clean and modern, placed with mahogany furniture more crafted than his own. Sunlight illuminated it, giving it an air of security and safety that warmed his senses unlike his "humble" abode. Off to his right was a miniature version of an art studio, easel and all. Whoever this person was happened to be an artist.

The door then opened, and he quickly adverted his eyes from the painting to where the doorway revealed a half-view of the living room, but his attention was drawn to the person who stood there with a light, easy smile.

"You're awake."

 _Now_ he recognized her. This was the girl who visited the bar twice a week. That Irish girl, whoever she was…he couldn't think of the name, but she'd been the one who made that portrait of the dancer that hung on the wall. Had she been the one to bring him out of there instead of Dawes this time?

She was…very strangely beautiful, in an elfin sort of way: small, narrow nose with a near-sharp point, skin almost as porcelain as his own was, slim lips of a faint shade of pink, and her eyes were vivid green as the Irish terrain, all set in a narrow face that wasn't even close to heart-shaped. Her long jet-black hair was let loose about her shoulders, covered by a red sweetheart-neckline tee, and her long legs by dark indigo jeans. Overall, her body frame was small and dainty with still-noticeable curves…

He shook his head. _Where did that come from?_ "Who are you?" From behind her, he could smell breakfast cooking, and his stomach growled as he realized how hungry he was - and couldn't even remember when he'd last had a good, proper meal.

The girl laughed sheepishly. Her laugh was soft and playful like a pixie's, her accent soothing as a brook. "Ah, _maith dom_ , I'm sorry." She crossed the room in four long strides and stopped right next to his side, holding her hand out. "Sinéad Ryan."

"Sinéad." Her name was like a new flavor on his tongue, no other words to describe it. He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment before taking it, noting the lightness of her handshake. "Jonathan Crane."

"Evelyn told me," was the reply.

He frowned. "Oh she did, did she? What did she say about me?"

"Just that you've had it pretty rough as of lately." She gave a little smile and shrugged casually. "And asked me to bring you home myself."

Jonathan folded his arms across his chest and eyed her suspiciously. "She always brings me straight home to my place first thing, so why didn't you take me there?"

"Didn't seem right, that's all." She placed a hand over her heart and gave him the look of wide-eyed innocence. "Why ever would I just dump you off like that passed out?" Her expression immediately changed to eyebrow-raised curiosity. "Speaking of which, how much did you drink last night?"

Jonathan struggled to remember. "Um…about four, five shots."

"Four or five?!" Her jaw dropped. "Oh, good God, do you always drink that much?" Jonathan was about to say yes and nearly every night when she went on, cutting him off altogether. It was starting to get to his nerves. "And I suppose you have a splitting migraine?"

"Obviously, yes," he answered, letting his annoyance for her finally come through. But she didn't seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn't seem to care.

"Well, wait here. I got some aspirin." She disappeared through the door next to her little art section, leaving him alone. He had a series of questions on his mind at the moment. Why did this girl even care about bringing him into her home when they didn't even know each other? Did she even know he was the notorious Scarecrow? And why was she so nice to him? He supposed he should thank her for her kindness, but years of a hard heart against other people made it too difficult to even consider it. How did he know she wasn't pretending?

She returned with a glass of water in one hand and a couple tablets in the other, smiling once more. Did she always smile like that? "Miss Ryan, why did Evelyn ask you to take care of me yourself and not do it herself?" Jonathan asked, accepting the pills and popping them, downing down the half-full glass in a gulp. She laughed at that.

"Something about her son."

"Her son…obviously." Four-year-old Damien Miller - _Dawes_ \- was a little nuisance, at least to him. Kids were rather deplorable, if he said so. Never in his life had he ever wanted to have children, for they were a living nightmare. In his old life, he never would consider letting any near his precious chemicals.

"I suppose when you're a parent, your children always come first."

"Of course," Jonathan drawled. _And that means giving up certain things in your life that you absolutely cherish for them._ He pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the right edge of the bed, finding himself in his underwear. His eyes widened, and raised them to glare at her. "You undressed me?!"

She raised her hands as if in surrender and drew back a little. "Please, don't be angry with me. Yes, I did, but only because you wouldn't be too comfortable with jeans in bed. Nothing happened." Jonathan felt his anger subside a little, but that didn't stop him from menacing her with that same look on his face. "And, I um…I made you breakfast, and you can go ahead and take a shower if you want," she suggested, turning to walk out of the room. "Bathroom's in the bedroom!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "I know it is." He was thoroughly surprised that a girl who appeared to be either in college or recently got out could even afford a modern, sleek and yet personally renovated place like this. The bathroom bore an equally cool and yet inviting air as the rest of the space. Jonathan slipped off his briefs and was about to turn on the shower in the glass stall when he caught sight of himself in the mirror next to him.

He'd always been so pale, due to lack of sunlight, and the circles beneath his eyes were from insomnia both in and out of Arkham...and then it began.

He grunted, holding back the groan, as the _burning_ up began, flaring his body not as intensely as an inferno, but his flesh tingled like his nerves. The time was coming, and he knew it. It would hit him when he did not see it coming, like the scorching was. It would appear to be a mere temporary, high temperature delirium, but it wasn't. Gritting his teeth, another wave hit him and caused him to turn halfway so he could see his guarded secret in the mirror.

Jonathan Crane had been born with this - _wings._ To be more precise, they were phoenix wings, the feathers ending right above his buttocks. They were outlined in black, shaded in red and orange as well as hints of icy blue. Nobody ever saw this of him as long as he was alive; his grandmother had a reputation for striking at them as her most severe of punishments because she'd screamed at him that because of WHAT he was, he'd killed his mother. And what he was not even completely human as he appeared on the outside.

That shower he really needed was in order, turning it on to hot enough if not smoldering to peel his flesh away. He uttered a sound of pleasure as the pain subsided only a little. Looking around, he saw that what Sinéad used wasn't exactly feminine smelling as he'd expected, but it _was_ an Irish brand. Jonathan had no idea what it was, but it left his hair softer, fuller, and shining. Finishing and drying, he redressed himself in the same shirt and jeans from yesterday given he still had to go back to his apartment to change for work later that afternoon.

Speaking of which, what time was it?

He found Sinéad at the stove in the kitchen. The floors were the same soft bamboo wood as the rest of the house, but the walls were a soft cream color patterned all over with dark green four-leaf clovers - _She must really want this place to feel like her native Ireland_ \- and there were plants placed in here, too. Both were the same - bold red blooms with lush leaves for a tropical mood - except in different containers. There was one in the far corner in a tapered vase, black with goldtones, and the other was placed in a white vase on the white shelf next to the doorway he stood in. Soft, haunting, _enchanting_ music filled the air.

"I like this type of music," Jonathan whispered as he remembered Amethystium.

"So do I," she replied, turning and walking over to the table in front of the window, where colorful plates rested on top - and filled with bacon, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes - pan in her hand. "I enjoy Celtic Woman and Celtic Thunder, Adrian von Ziegler, and Brunuhville. Their works are as lush as my homeland."

Jonathan sat down at the table, watching as she shoved the eggs onto his dish and then her own. "Why did you move here to Gotham?"

She shrugged once and walked back over to the sink to run hot soapy water into the pan, then grabbed the basket that rested before her. "When I was seventeen, my grandmother died, and then I moved out here." She set it down between their dishes, displaying slices of Irish soda bread.

It was then that he noticed the black-framed picture that rested on the windowsill beside him. It was a woman of elderly years, her graying hair piled elegantly atop her head, and her wizened face smiling warmly at the camera as her shot was taken. The one next to it in a wrought iron frame was her and a younger Sinéad, about thirteen or fourteen at the time it was taken. Jealousy tinged in him as he envied this girl for a grandmother who loved her and may have treated her right while his own was the living devil who made his life hell more than he could ever tolerate. And then he wondered about her parents. "What about your parents?"

"They live in the slums, and I live here, far away from them." He quirked an eyebrow and smirked a little. From the way she said that, it sounded like she and her parents didn't get along. Well, perhaps he shouldn't be too envious of her, after all. "Let's just say that life at home wasn't what I always imagined a child having to live in, and my grandmother was always there whenever something happened. But when she died, things got worse. So when I got accepted into the art institute, I left them and never saw them again."

 _Shame, I_ _'_ _d have hoped she_ _'_ _d killed them as I killed my grandmother_. But this girl didn't seem to fit the lines of psychopathic avenger. Not with her mild-mannered personality. And she was still speaking even when she brought over the tea kettle, and he smelled his favorite Irish breakfast tea that he hadn't had since he'd been committed into Arkham, and after he was released. Turned out to be Sinéad's favorite, too.

His eye caught sight of something as she leaned over to fill his cup. The shirt lifted a little to show the top of her left breast, showing something black - like a small tattoo that looked like a -

Sadly, she shifted back as soon as she was done, and was still speaking. "When I was little, Gran Siobhán was the one who was my guardian angel. She would read me stories and folktales, fairytales, you name it, about mythical creatures of all kinds. Among my favorites are mermaids and phoenixes. I even still read them even though she's gone. I used to love putting the angel on top of our tree at Christmas after we'd go out and pick one up." She sighed heavenly as she set the pot back onto the stove. "Brings back memories, you know? But then for a year and a half after she passed, my parents preferred stupid artificial trees. I keep wishing I'd have a tree again like my gran and I would always go out for. The perfect, proper Christmas."

She looked back at him when he didn't speak, and found him looking her on with a dumfounded expression. She frowned. "You're not interested."

"Huh?" Jonathan caught himself and mentally slapped himself for being so rude. "Oh, no. It's just that…my family never really had a good Christmas, either. Never did anything holiday-related and I never got any presents."

Her jaw dropped, understanding in her eyes. "Your parents didn't treat you right, either?"

"Namely my grandmother." Jonathan settled back into his chair. "I'd rather not talk about it." He looked down at the food before him, and his stomach growled again, the smell getting to him. "Looks great."

She laughed and walked over and sat before him. "Well, I won't make you talk if you don't want to." She took a bite out of her bread piece, looking at him expectantly. He realized it was his cue to finally eat. He picked up a bacon piece, took a bite, and moaned in delight.

"This is amazing. I haven't had a good meal in four years."

Her green eyes widened in shock. "You're not kidding? You haven't eaten in _four years?!_ "

"I was in an asylum for two years, and afterwards I haven't been able to find a job that lasted more than a week to even a month." He looked past her shoulder to stare at the wall before him. "I had no money, and I was starving and freezing in the abode I live in now..." He felt his hand tighten on his fork as anger seeped his veins. "…and I have for a neighbor Miss Miller whom I never lived on friendly terms with in the past. She was always on my backside for her own reasons, so she's gravely mistaken that she can try to put it behind us just by playing nice with me."

She stared at him for a while as if searching him and trying to decide what to say. Then she lifted her cup to her lips for a sip, before lowering it and surprising him just like that. "What if she really does mean it?"

"The hell if she does," Jonathan snarled in spite of himself. She moved backwards in her chair looking instantly afraid of him. He softened at the sight but kept himself as he was. "You have no idea what she was like before I was in Arkham."

"Well, all she told me was that the Batman was responsible -"

"He _is_ responsible!" Jonathan exploded, slamming his palm on the table. "He took everything away from me! My ENTIRE LIFE! And Evelyn played a part in it all! It's her fault I have nothing in my meaningless life!" He could feel his face heating and knew he'd gone beet red in a matter of moments. His breath was out of control as was his heartbeat, but he had a right to feel this way. Before he knew it, the tears came, and he bowed his head to the table, weeping loudly. His hormones and emotions were always controlled except when he was really stricken to a certain pressure point, but it was too late to take it all back now.

He felt a hand place itself on his arm, and he looked up to see Sinéad's eyes stone-hard and boring into him. "Jonathan, listen to me," she said firmly, and gone was the sweet Irish lass he'd known only moments ago, replaced by something - or rather, someone - more motherly and ready to give her child a lecture. "I don't know the whole story, but whatever happened between you and Evelyn is all in the past. And whoever else treated you wrong, they do not exist anymore. They're either out there living shitty lives or dead and rotting in the goddamn ground. And from what I can tell, you have severe trust issues which came from childhood terror which I know too well, but you don't see me inflicting that on others around me. So you better listen to me real good, Mr. Crane: I'm here to help you, and I'll be doing it on my own with or without Evelyn's help. And if anyone ever tries to pull shit on either of us, they'll answer to me."

He was taken aback by her sudden change of attitude, and by now she was leaning into him. He could see the fire and determination, something he'd grown used to seeing in a woman, but there was also care in those emerald orbs. It wasn't false, as he'd originally thought; she meant every word, and for that, he felt guilt-ridden.

And then he caught a glimpse of the black tattoo above her breast.

It was that of a Celtic mermaid.

Much like he had phoenix wings on his back. He gasped silently and tore his eyes away from that, instead turning to look back into her eyes.

 _Sinéad is a mermaid._

 _She_ _'_ _s a mermaid in human form, and I_ _'_ _m a phoenix._

Her face bore all the signs that she'd gone too far and ultimately got herself together and drew herself away from him, sitting back into her chair, staring down at her plate. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I got carried away."

"No, don't apologize," Jonathan told her, managing a little smile. "I'm actually…surprised. No one's ever talked to me like that before. This is actually the first time I've ever had a real conversation with anyone. You're the first person who actually cares about me."

He stopped himself right there. He'd just about smacked himself. _What the hell, Jonathan? What the hell were you thinking telling her that on the first day?_ But she was smiling at him.

"And I can tell you're not like the other guys."

That made him tighten his jaw and narrow his eyes. "Guys?" He didn't know what was coming over him, but it sure as hell was beyond his control. It was like he actually liked this girl, made him feel like he knew her forever - _And I_ _'_ _ve only just met her!_ \- and feel protective, like a wolf protective of its mate.

She gasped sharply and slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I have such a loud mouth. But yes…" She sucked in a breath. "When I was fourteen, I had a boyfriend who was a couple years older than I was, and it was a dream come true for a teenage girl with starry dreams…but then he left me because I was 'immature'." Her eyes were then glassing up with approaching tears. "My next boyfriend in high school abused me, hit me around, until I couldn't take it anymore and told my grandmother, and the authorities handled it. My third, who was from a year in college, he left me because I was too into my arts to even focus on him." She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "How could he even do that when I handled both him and my work? Anyways, my fourth and latest who left me recently..."

Jonathan's temper had been boiling for the last few minutes she discussed her old boyfriends as they ate their breakfast - well, he ate his while he listened with attentiveness - and then the most recent one got it perked up all the more. "What about him?"

"Broke up with me on Sunday of all days, the day he was going to take me to the game. Said we should start seeing other people. Said and I quote, 'It's not you, it's me.'" She mimicked his voice with poison on her tongue.

By now, Jonathan was too full of hate to finish his food. He wished he could, with all his might, find this latest, given the other three were beyond his reach, and beat the living hell out of him. Well, that would have helped if he'd had his fear toxin, but no. Despite himself, he said, "A sweet girl like you doesn't deserve all of this."

Her eyes met his, and he saw the light - not reflected by the sunlight - of joy and hope in them. She was beginning to believe that he wasn't anything like her exes - except there was still a lot about him that she had no idea about.

Come to think of it, there was still more to her than meets the eye, and he was sure of it.

They finished breakfast in silence before she did the honors of clearing the table for them and bringing the dishes to the sink. "Do you like sports?" she asked suddenly.

Okay, now he knew she was going to ask him likes and dislikes on the first day. "No. Never played them."

"Why not?"

"Just was never interested," he answered. "I was more of the nerd who loved books and uninterested in gossip and jocks and all."

She laughed right there. "So you were the bullied?"

"Absolutely." His jaw tightened.

"School life wasn't that bad for me," Sinéad said. "It was an escape for me, to get away from Brian and Léan." Jonathan frowned at the names, before it clicked that they were her parents. "And no, I'm not calling them Mother and Father. They in no way deserved to be, and they sure don't now."

"School and home were both hell for me," Jonathan said, standing up to help her put the dishes away, feeling the need to do something. "By the time I got into college, it improved, but I still struggled with socializing with others."

"Well…" She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. "If you want to do something sometime, maybe we can go to a movie or a game?"

Jonathan was taken aback once more. Was she…was she asking him out on a date or something? He had no idea what to say, and he certainly didn't know how to respond. And then he looked at the clock behind her. It read only ten AM. He didn't need to be in at work until one-thirty, but he needed to get home and change clothes.

"Would you like to head home with me? I need to change for work." He winced when he saw the disappointment in her eyes, like she feared she did something wrong. It wasn't her fault; it was his. He was new to all of this and had no idea how to make a girl happy.

 **Jonathan's emotional and mental outbursts are common in previous fics of the past, as well as his comic and media incarnations. In "Phoenix Burning" by CrowsAce, this was the vital point that inspired me to do this. :D He's a "rare, special immortal creature - a phoenix - that piqued the interest of Ra's al Ghul", though CrowsAce hadn't finished the story to explore further beyond meeting the mysterious leader of the League of Shadows in the Middle East. And with Jonathan's "burning condition", he suffers very much in terms of menstrual hormonal difficulties, and this time around is kinda similar, but later we will actually see the REAL difference not yet seen in "Phoenix Burning".**

 **I'm a fan of Celtic Woman and Celtic Thunder, Amethystium and the other artists mentioned that their tunes are also inspiring for this story. :)**

 **So, Sinéad is a vital part of helping Jonathan besides simply becoming his love interest, and more people come in later. Thanks to previously mentioned "Phoenix Burning" and "Saving You", we really feel emotionally touched by his present suffering...but I promise it won't last.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"How the hell can you live in a place like this?" Sinéad gave the place around her a distasteful frown - this was Jonathan's home, and she did not like one piece of it. Seriously, he lived just a few blocks from Adisa's Bar, and it was so ratty that she couldn't put it into words. But then again, with the way his life had been after being in an insane asylum, it had to remain within the budget you had.

They were currently standing outside the front on the third floor - turned out that he was Evelyn's next door neighbor - and he was fumbling with the door and the key; after he successfully got it open, he looked over his shoulder to gaze at her reproachfully. "With the limited budget I have, I can't afford what you have, Miss Ryan."

"Call me Sinéad," she returned. "I'm not into formality."

The walls were faded and on the verge of peeling; even the furniture - or rather, lack of it - was no better. There happened to be only the usual appliances and the kitchen and bathroom that every other place in the world supplied, except instead of a real bed, there was a futon that served as a bed by night and a lounger by day. What was sad was that he had nothing in terms of bedding or clothes to keep him warm. The latter she could tell from when he opened the wardrobe off to the side to show his lacking wardrobe that consisted of t-shirts, jeans, and jackets. She clucked her tongue in disapproval as she surveyed his place with a critical eye. There were four rooms total - the kitchen with the dining room, two spare rooms, and the living area - but it turned out that the living room and kitchen were his top spaces. The living area with the futon happened to be his sleeping area…and reading area, as she glimpsed a large bookcase filled with all eight shelves of books. Most of which she could see were psychology, and worn covers from years of use.

"Books have always been my passion," Jonathan called behind her. She turned her head slightly to see him select a new outfit and walk into one of the spare rooms behind her. "Nobody in my life ever cared to acknowledge me, so books and knowledge were all that I ever loved. My grandmother's Georgian manor bore a library she called the 'forbidden room', but I would always sneak in at night when she passed out to indulge myself into the works of sciences and medicines. I stood out at school and in life among cretins with their heads in their asses."

Sinéad couldn't help but laugh at the use of term on people who rejected him for being different than they were. She and he had the "different from others" common factor, but no one bothered a second eye to criticize her the way he had been. Abusive authority figures were their equality. Life was cruel on so many levels.

"I'm so sorry," she said, going back to her surroundings.

He scoffed. "Sure you are. Everyone's sorry for something."

She couldn't take it anymore. He literally didn't trust her; well, that didn't surprise her at all. And well, she wasn't sure if she herself could trust any guy after everything she'd been through with Steven and the others. For now all she could do was enjoy her independence…and this current situation that involved earning Jonathan's trust was part of it, minus enjoyment.

Or perhaps enjoyment could come along later. Truthfully, she had no idea for now.

"So," she said carefully, hesitating with this question she was dying to know the answer to but at the same time wasn't sure if it was a safe topic, "how long have you been working at the bar for?"

Jonathan stuck his head around the corner, his eyes full of triggered irritation. "I thought you knew the answer already. Didn't Evelyn tell you?"

"No," Sinéad answered nervously. "She only told me as much as she could about you, but I don't remember if I ever asked how long you've been there."

He stepped out, wearing a new shirt and the same pair of jeans. "Two years," he answered sullenly. "Don't even ask me if I like my job."

She frowned. Based on the way he said that, he was the opposite of happy with his job. "Listen, do you need me to drop you off at the bar or -"

"Sinéad…" Uh oh, she'd pushed him. She braced herself for the incurring of his wrath at asking too many questions, even put on her best defense face when she looked him up. "I really don't appreciate being interrogated in my -" He stopped talking altogether when he saw her expression. "Oh…forgive me, I -"

"Don't apologize. You barely know me, and you have every right to be this way." Sinéad's throat constricted when she found herself staring into his eyes behind half-broken glasses. Gran Siobhán once said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and this man's eyes were so…clear and blue, like a northern glacier, reflecting and transparent. A torrent of emotions flashed through them, from sad to anger to…she couldn't figure him out at all, other than the fact that he was a lost, tortured soul.

"I walk to work every day." His change of topic worked her nerves indefinitely. "So, no, I don't need a lift."

"Well, then," Sinéad said, pulling her jacket back over herself and half-zipping it up, "I bid you a good day, Jonathan, and a nice meeting you." With that, she was out the door within seconds.

Shutting the door behind her as soon as she was home, she was on the verge of screaming out to the ceiling. Groaning instead, she locked the door and tossed her keys onto the couch. What the hell was Jonathan's problem? Why did he find it so hard that she was trying to treat him like a human being? She felt sorry for everything he went through, but even that didn't excuse his attitude. Sinéad, like her grandmother, never took shit from anyone. Sometimes you have to show a little tough love.

Just then, her house phone rang. She jumped out of her reverie and walked over to where it rested on the table beside the sofa. "Yes?"

 _"_ _Sinéad, great news._ _"_

She smiled. "Someone approved of my painting, Dan?" she asked of her agent whom she met during college.

 _"_ _That_ _'_ _s right, love,_ _" h_ e answered cheerfully. _"_ _None other than Wayne Enterprises. Namely the CEO himself._ _"_

"Bruce Wayne?" She frowned, turning around only for the sake of it to stare at the rose canvas before her. _The_ Bruce Wayne whom no one had seen in public for the last four years? "But no one's seen him for years."

 _"_ _I know, right? But isn't this a great opportunity or what? Secluded billionaire Bruce Wayne making your work recognizable?_ _"_ Dan was sing-songing now. _"_ _And Lucius Fox, the president, has phoned me and informed me that there_ _'_ _s going to be a party thrown at Wayne Manor for you this Friday night._ _"_

"Friday." This was all too good to be true. _Perhaps I should swing by the bar afterwards and celebrate with Evelyn and Jonathan and Al_ _-_ _but Anna is a complete_ _"_ _maybe_ _"_ _…_ "Alright, Dan, sounds like a plan," she said with a little crack of a grin. "I look forward to it."

~o~

Rachel wiped off the counter in a foul mood. Wearing a red flannel shirt opening to show a red t-shirt reading in big black, cursive letters "The Queen of Everything", she'd taken Damien to Miss Mildred and was greeted with another warning about next week if she ever made the slip-up-late-fee again. Someday she wanted to just open her mouth and tell the old bag how she really felt.

 _If only Bruce was here. Then I would be home with him, given he goes to the office as he wishes, and so while Damien is at school, we can have time for each other._ If only it were that simple. Just like everyone else - save for Anna and Al who knew who she really was but said nothing for her sake - Bruce knew she was dead, because a fire was inescapable.

Well, she'd escaped. How she did it was lucky that she never even considered before, seconds before the bomb went off.

~o~

 _She looked behind her at the building that exploded behind her on 250 52_ _nd_ _Street, watching from the distance as fire trucks and police cars surrounded the site. She was far from them, pulling her black jacket around herself to keep warm as well as to hide her face from the rest of the world. She could see Gordon talking to someone_ _-_ _Ramirez, that bitch who brought her here and tied her up_ _-_ _for a few moments before the latter turned away and left the site. This was Rachel_ _'_ _s cue to leave. If she ever thought of making contact with that scum again, the answer was no._

 _Unfortunately, her prayers were unanswered._

 _"_ _Don_ _'_ _t think I_ _'_ _m happy to see you,_ _"_ _she snarled at the traitor in Gordon_ _'_ _s unit who made her appearance in an alleyway not too far away from the site._ _"_ _I_ _'_ _m positive sooner or later someone will find you out and Wuertz._ _"_

 _Ramirez gave her a guilty, apologetic look._ _"_ _And I_ _'_ _m more than ready for it, but please understand,_ _"_ _she pleaded, now dropping to her knees, making Rachel hiss with disgust and pull her coat around her tighter,_ _"_ _I swear to God that I didn't know what they were going to do to you; they just told me to bring you here, and for Wuertz to bring in Harvey, and I didn't realize anything was wrong until I decided to leave you the knife and the back door unlocked._ _"_

 _Leaving her the tools for her release didn't make the situation any better than it was already worse._ _"Y_ _ou just had to help this mess because you needed the money,_ _"_ _Rachel accused, hands on her hips._ _"_ _What_ exactly _did you think they were going to do?_ _"_

 _"_ _My mother_ _'_ _s condition is getting worse, and her hospital bills keep being raised_ _-"_

 _She_ _'_ _d had enough; she turned to make her way out of this place and away from this simpering woman when she heard her name being called, and footsteps scrambling her way._ _"_ _Please, don_ _'_ _t! They think you_ _'_ _re dead, and the mob will go after the both of us._ _"_

 _"_ _Better you than me. Should have thought of that earlier, right?_ _"_

 _"_ _Better you alive than me. You need to get out of here, go someplace until the heat cools down,_ _"_ _Ramirez suggested._ _"_ _Hide out someplace where no one knows who you are…and so you can keep the little one safe._ _"_

 _Her attention was raptured altogether. Rachel stopped abruptly and turned to face her._ _"_ _Little one? What the hell are you saying?_ _"_ _What was she trying to pull off now? First she kidnapped her, let everyone think she died in the fire, and now she wanted to help?_ _"_ _Are you saying that I_ _'_ _m…?_ _"_ _She gasped, stopping mid-sentence, and looked down to her abdomen, putting her hand there at the possibility that she was…_

 _"J_ _ust only arrived. I can sense it._ _"_ _Her eyes flicked back up to Ramirez_ _'_ _s face, scowling suspiciously. What in the name of God was going on now? Was she psychic or something? Not that she believed in any of that. Then she felt her arm being grabbed by the corrupt cop_ _'s_ _hand and pulled away and deep into the dark alley._ _"_ _But we can_ _'_ _t discuss it out here. Someplace where the mob has no ears._ _"_

~o~

"Evelyn - hey, Evelyn, wake up! Wake up! Look what's on!"

"Huh?" Rachel snapped out of it and looked to where Anna pointed to the flatscreen. She gasped when she saw the name of the latest headline on GCN:

MASTERPIECE OF THE DECADE: WAYNE ENTERPRISES TAKES INTEREST IN ASPIRING YOUNG ARTIST

"Looks like the new girl is suddenly going to make a name for herself," Anna noted with a wry grin. But she had turned her attention back down to the empty glass she was polishing, a habit of hers that bothered Rachel. But she ignored her friend and instead focused on what the newscaster was saying.

 _"_ _Gothamites, it looks like we have a new, fresh face to present to the world of art. A fantastic new masterpiece has been presented to the world, accepted by none other than Wayne Enterprises, and what_ _'s_ _surprising_ _-_ _and rare in general_ _-_ _is that the artist is a recent graduate from the Art Institute of Gotham, by the name of Sinéad Ryan_ _-"_ _He pronounced her name correctly,_ Rachel thought, satisfied. _"-_ _and it all began when one exquisite creation of a mermaid getting ready to leave her world of Atlantis for a bigger, broader adventure was based after her own life, in which twenty-two-year-old Miss Ryan left her native Ireland only less than a decade ago following the death of her grandmother. What does this pinpoint? It means this aspiring newcomer has a bright, shining future in front of her, and this Friday night the Wayne Foundation is hosting a public presentation event in her honor, and we_ _'l_ _l wait and see what happens from there._ _"_

"Well, I'll be damned," Anna mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I always knew that girl would blast sooner or later." At the same time, the door to the bar opened, and both women looked to see the incoming customer. "Speaking of which, there she is. Girl, did you see yourself on the TV?" she asked the glowing Sinéad who flounced over to the counter.

Her smile soon faded in a split second and glanced up to the flatscreen, seeing the headline and hearing what the reporter was saying…and her face lighting up once more at the ethereal images of her work pictured. "I only received a call from my agent this morning. It happened so fast. How did this get out?"

But Rachel was no longer listening to the conversation, rather focusing her attention on the second painting by Sinéad… _it was her._ She felt her blood stop cold.

 _Wayne Manor…that means Bruce will know I_ _'_ _m alive. He_ _'l_ _l see that one, and he_ _'_ _ll know._

 _I need to see him. Maybe it_ _'_ _s time to finally come out of hiding._

"I'm allowed to bring a date or a friend with me," she heard Sinéad say, "so I was wondering if either of you want to go with me."

 _This is it!_ But Rachel tried her hardest not to show how overexcited she was - but she was also very afraid. What if she was recognized at once and was swarmed with press and bombarded with questions like "Why did you fake your death, Miss Dawes?" and "Why come back now?" And most of all, how would Bruce react if he knew that he had a son he never knew he had with her? Would he want to be a father?

Anna scoffed. "I have better things to do than waste my time with the elite. I'd go for free drinks and parties anytime and anywhere but those fundraisers and galas." Rachel rolled her eyes; she knew that was coming long before the words were out. _She wouldn't want me to go to Bruce. But she won't say so in front of our friend here._

"Yes, I'll go with you," she said. "I haven't been out since Damien was born. I'll just…leave him with you for the night." She winked at Anna's wide eyes.

"Rachel, you're seriously just leaving your child with me on a Friday of all nights?!"

"That's right. I refuse to leave him with Miss Mildred if she's just going to open her mouth about her money," Rachel said with that knot in her stomach, "and you're my only option. I thought you were my friend."

"I am, but -" Anna protested.

"Enough, decision made," Rachel interrupted, having no more of this. "So do me a favor and go serve those guys by the window while I ready the next round of shots." The Hispanic woman scoffed again and rolled her eyes before huffing away. She looked to Sinéad and noticed that she'd leaned over, the neck of her tee rippling slightly to show a tattoo above her left breast for her to see: it was a black-inked, double-tailed mermaid. Rachel just about bit her tongue as she went back to that night with Anna Ramirez.

~o~

 _They returned to Ramirez's old apartment on Blue Grave, where the Hispanic offered her to change and shower, but Rachel refused. She wanted nothing until she had the answers she deserved._

 _"My mother and I have been keeping eyes on you and Bruce Wayne all your lives," Anna explained as she boiled herb tea on the stove. "We have what is called the Third Eye, which means we see beyond ordinary perception_ - _"_

 _"I know what the Third Eye is!" Rachel snapped, wanting to slap the tabletop to release the tension; the night's events were too much for her to handle. Harvey had been saved, but everyone thought she was dead. At least Bruce had saved him, but the both of them...she knew neither of them would handle her "loss" well._

 _Ramirez turned from the stove and held up both hands placatingly. "Okay, okay, don't get that way with me."_

 _"You're the one who brought me there, so what makes you think I'm willing to trust you on a bunch of mystical theories and hocus-pocus?"_

 _"Because I'm all you have left, and so is the baby," Anna answered hotly._

 _"How do you even know I'm pregnant?" Rachel asked. "Oh, no, don't tell me. Your 'Third Eye' knows it all," she stated sarcastically._

 _"You're not even a day along," Anna said, turning to take the whistling pot off the stove. "Anyways, back to the main point. Mother and I watched you and your friend grow up, so yes, we know who the Batman really is."_

 _Rachel stiffened; if this scumbag woman knew Bruce was the Batman, then why didn't she turn him in or even told anybody in the unit? Or the mob? People like her in the mob's pay were willing to do anything for the money in desperate times like this. Being ADA, she'd seen many things. "If you know who Bruce Wayne really is, then why didn't you...?"_

 _"Then you know it would have ruined everything. Because you and him, and your child, are destined for something coming up."_

 _She scoffed as she accepted the teacup from her "hostess". "And what_ is _coming up, Ramirez? Is this something that the mob has planned, or the Joker next?"_

 _"No, the Joker will be locked away in a padded cell by this time," the other woman answered by the time she sat down on the opposite side of the kitchen table. "I won't waste anymore time and cut to the chase. That spearhead you found in Wayne Manor's gardens when you were a little girl..."_

 _Her blood ran cold. Rachel was about to ask how she knew that, but now this magical information sinking in; maybe she ought to stop being so stubborn. "What about it?"_

 _"The spearhead can be found in almost every Polynesian design, as I think you already knew," Ramirez explained. "It's designed to express courage and fight, and also to represent warriors themselves. Which means that you, like your lover, are a warrior yourself."_

 _Rachel made a noise that sounded between a laugh and a sound of disbelief. That was...that was so ridiculous. She was a..._ fighter _based on a simple childhood finding that she'd given Bruce as a return birthday present after a seven-year absence? On second thought, it made sense after her outkill fighting to help put the criminals behind bars that the good people were too afraid to do, knowing that the corrupt would off them or the mob hiring hits. She hadn't been afraid to prosecute. Never. "You're not denying," Ramirez noted, no trace of smugness, just plain analysis._

 _"No," Rachel admitted, "but what does..." She looked down at her abdomen, placing a hand over it and feeling the silk blouse she still wore. "...my baby have to do with this?"_

 _"The reason why you have to stay hidden from Gotham, change your name and set up a new living," Anna answered. "Not permanently, but just until the right time comes. The baby is special and needs protection from the ones of the storm coming. There will be a time then where you and Wayne reunite, but you won't be alone either in this battle."_

~o~

"I think Friday is the night," Rachel said later that day, after Sinéad had gone home. She had begun to get hot in her flannel shirt, removed it, wrapped it and tied it around her waist before resuming to pick up the tray of empty tequila shots.

"The night," Anna stated coolly. Al and Jonathan weren't around, but you could never be too careful; the women kept their voices lowered. "The night I told you was where it all comes down to an end. I see it all, and I know you're right."

"You bet." She could see herself reuniting with Bruce that night, but then again she would have to owe Sinéad an explanation, since after going into hiding and being fed more intel on human beings actually being mythical characters in earthly form. It had all been overwhelming and breaking the boundaries between fact and fiction, too much that she nearly lost Damien before he was born.

She didn't own very many nice dresses and jewels anymore, since she couldn't go back to her old place, only sneaking as few items as possible. One was an elegant strapless velvet dress of dark blue with a high slit reaching mid-thigh, baring her left leg. And one of the few jewels she owned was a much fancier set given to her by Bruce on her birthday when they were in high school, looking much brighter than any Hollywood spotlight, even outshining any jewel worn by any celebrity who walked the red carpet to get noticed. The earrings and necklace were oval-shaped rubies surrounded by diamonds loaded with more flashes than the paparazzi cameras. She never wore them much, but hopefully Bruce would recognize her once he spotted them if not her face, now framed by shorter hair...


	5. Chapter 5

**I thank "The Dark Knight Rises" for this section of the story. :)**

Chapter Five

She was overwhelmed by the luxury of Wayne Manor; this was more than Sinéad ever wanted in her life. To think that Bruce Wayne of all people would be interested brought up the question: _why_ was a man whom people had not seen in years fascinated with her, a new face to the world of creativity? And why was Evelyn so willing to see him?

She'd been rather stiff and distracted the whole time they rode the cab to the party that Sinéad had to repeatedly ask what was wrong, and she would always answer nothing, but she was lying. After no attempts, she just stopped and settled on them getting to Wayne Manor and being greeted with paparazzi, something Sinéad wasn't used to. She preferred privacy and being out of the radar, yet at the same time, it amazed her that Wayne would go as far as to treat her like royalty. Evelyn flashed the press a small, nervous smile as she joined the younger girl through the entrance, where they were greeted by a kind-looking, white-haired old man in a butler's attire.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor, ladies. You must be Miss Ryan," he said to her. _His accent...he must be English_ , Sinéad thought as she answered him.

"Yes, sir, I am. And this is my friend, Evelyn."

She didn't miss his switch of emotions on his wizened face; first there was the same smile that he'd given her, before it briefly changed to one of self-controlled shock as though he'd seen her friend before - now Sinéad knew she was getting somewhere - before returning to that smile again. "Oh, well, come on inside and enjoy the party. And would you both care for some champagne?"

Evelyn thanked him and took hers, while Sinéad nervously got her own. The butler looked her on. "You're not used to these things, I gather."

"Yes, sir. I'm not used to big formal affairs," she answered politely.

He chuckled. "The name's Alfred, Miss Ryan, if you ever need me again tonight. And nice to...meet you too, Evelyn." Sinéad frowned to herself; it seemed like he meant to say "see" instead of "meet". She turned to her friend and saw her take a long swig of the liquor and finished it off right away.

"Would you care telling me what is going on now?" she asked.

Evelyn took her by the arm and led her into the crowd. "It's a long story, Sinéad," she said in a hushed voice. "I came here tonight because I know Bruce Wayne."

"Obviously," she stated flatly. "But how?"

"Oh, pardon me, Miss Ryan." Alfred the butler was back, this time without the champagne. "But Mr. Wayne has asked to see you himself, and I have to bring you to him." Alright, now she was getting hotter. The man himself asking to see her himself instead of coming to the party in person where all his guests, these people in exquisite formal finery that she felt so small and out of place amongst, were enjoying themselves and checking out her painting - her breath caught in her throat when she saw _her_ portrait in a large frame of antique gold, so perfect. And then it dawned on her because she'd patterned the woman after Evelyn...her thought never finished because the butler graciously led her up the grand staircase and interrupted her mind.

"Master Wayne hasn't seen anyone outside the East Room in nearly five years."

"Should I ask why?" Sinéad asked, careful not to overstep boundaries she shouldn't. "I heard he hadn't been seen in some years now, yet he still runs the company."

"Indeed he is the CEO and heir to the Wayne fortune, but the enterprise itself is run primarily by Lucius Fox. Master Wayne has no need to actually leave this house. He lost his parents when he was but a boy, and five years ago a woman he loved in a tragic fire. She was everything to him, and when he lost her, he didn't move on to find another one in his life."

The journey up the stairs and to the east drawing room mentioned was a trifle long because of the thick and countless steps, which made it difficult with her long black satin dress with off-shoulder straps, given she had to carry the train to walk, and it was a good thing she chose flats. Around her neck was another necklace she owned but saved for occasions; the stones were blissful blue quartz accented with amethysts. Wayne Manor had been burned down some years before only to be fabulously rebuilt. Had she'd been here before then, she would have detected any differences.

"Here we are." The door had been cracked open, but Sinéad wasn't sure if Alfred did that himself or if the occupant on the other side did before she came here. "I shall wait outside, Miss Ryan. But please, don't upset him in any way and keep your sentences brief."

He talked as if Wayne was an old man who didn't catch on fast. She nodded and walked inside.

~o~

Rachel decided to follow them, make sure nobody else saw her. She had always known she'd find Alfred again, anticipated his reaction and even more when she finally came to the east drawing room she remembered in vivid detail from childhood. The manor once owned by Bruce's parents had been rebuilt as he said the way it would be: "Just the way it was, brick for brick."

"Rachel." The way Alfred greeted her was terse.

"Hi, Alfred." A simple greeting never solved anything, but she didn't know how else to speak to one of the men she loved dearly and was forced to fool into believing she was dead. "I know a simple sorry won't fix it."

"No, it won't," he agreed, though a smile was beginning to form, silently telling her he was happy she was alive, that Bruce would be happy, although she doubted he'd take it all the way well, given how broken she heard the butler tell Sinéad.

"I escaped the fire, but I had to hide because of how things were. I always wanted to come back," Rachel explained. "And I have a son." _Me and Bruce's son._

Alfred chuckled. "I somehow always knew there would be a new member of the family. Master Bruce would be most happy."

She gave a short laugh. "But I don't think he'll be ready to be a father." _Seeing me alive again, might not believe what I plan to tell him, and now just learning he's a father to a four-year-old boy._

"He might, or he might not. It's a blessing Miss Ryan did that painting of you that proved to be the road for you back here."

 _She did it when she didn't know anything about four years ago, but yeah, you're right. Sinéad brought us back together, like a fairytale come true where your true love is worth fighting for and always worth the wait._

~o~

Sinéad found herself in a mostly empty room that looked like nobody ever came in here, and much of the furniture pieces were covered with a white sheet as though ready to be moved or just not to be messed with ever again. She suspected Bruce Wayne was an inactive man, and it made her wonder how he ever survived besides his butler.

She then spotted a long dresser-like set in front of a long window collection, and atop was a collection of framed photographs. Walking up to them, she picked one up depicting a smiling couple, one being a very handsome man and the woman blonde and sunny. _His parents._ Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered by a mugger in an alleyway, their young son witnessing it all happen right in front of him. He was an only child like she herself; now that she thought of her own parents, Sinéad wondered how her life would have been if they died when she was still a child, and it would have been just her and Gran. _She still would have died when I was seventeen, and I'd fend for myself alone, starving in the streets, working a job while still trying to finish school._

The next one truly raptured her attention.

 _Evelyn_.

There was no mistaking the same face, only this one had much longer brown waves in spiraling curls over one shoulder, some spilling onto the other, and she was happy. Now Sinéad pieced it together. Evelyn had known Bruce Wayne, but how? And how come she never talked about her past?

And was Wayne the father of her young son?

"Miss Ryan, I presume."

She shrieked and jumped, turning around at the source of the voice. A man stood there, wearing a dressing gown over sleeping clothes. He had dark hair, wavy but greasy that spoke of few baths or showers, and the small beard and mustache on his face also was a sign that appearances didn't matter much to him anymore. He had to have gone through a lot in the last four years like Jonathan had, only different circumstances. And she knew exactly who this was. "Sinéad, please, Mr. Wayne. I hate formal uses."

He gave a low chuckle that seemed actually empty of any humor; anything funny must have abandoned him years before. "Well, then, Sinéad, I was impressed with your work."

She regarded him suspiciously. "But why, may I ask?"

Wayne was silent for a moment, looking down to the floor as though deep in thought. "Just that it reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago." His brows furrowed by the time he looked back up at her. "Makes me also wonder where you got the idea from. That's why I asked you here."

What could she tell him? She couldn't lie to him, and Evelyn was outside; Sinéad was a wave of confused emotions right now, so she settled on, "Well, there's a woman who works at a bar downtown, and she's a friend of mine. She gave me the inspiration," she answered awkwardly. "It never crossed my mind that -"

"Bruce."

Both turned around to see Evelyn standing there, right behind him when nobody heard or saw her come in.

~o~

Sinéad Ryan was prettier than he thought she'd be. She was Irish; you could tell in her first name and now in her elfin face, her accent, as well as her mildly timid demeanor, but now Bruce was no longer focusing his attention on the young woman who created the canvas downstairs for all the elite and press to admire. _No...no, no, it can't be...no..._

Except it was. "Rachel?" was all he could get out as he stared at the image before him, wondering if he was seeing a ghost. Just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, he began to walk her way. He'd seen her in dreams and waking hours, and in the pictures still about the manor, but now she was here? She was supposed to be dead!

She was so beautiful, more than he remembered. She was in a stunning blue velvet dress baring her shoulders and chest, the side slit to show a leg, and the diamonds and rubies glittering he'd given her at one time for her birthday in their teen years. She was a _bombshell_. More than any actress or model in the world. Just to see if he wasn't going crazy, he reached out and touched the side of her face, noticing that her soft brown curls were cut short so they bobbed around her ears. Short and sexy, he loved it.

But most of all, he actually _felt_ her, and she was _real_. "Oh, Rachel!" he gasped wrapping his arms around her waist, all the painful feelings returning as he held her to him for the first time in forever, inhaling her alluring and musky jasmine and rose perfume that still haunted his senses, and her arms wrapped around his neck as she desperately clung to him and began to cry with him.

 **Lovers reunited, but more to come. Stay tuned!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here comes a moment worth waiting for. :D One being between the reunited Bruce and Rachel, and the one involving Jonathan as well as** **Sinéad. Hold onto your seats, kiddies! XD**

 **As an additional note, I blame my Irish blood (and I am full American, in addition) for loving my OC, her heritage and everything else, so much.**

Chapter Six

"How are you alive?"

She'd seen Sinéad slip out of the room as though unsure if she was supposed to be here or not and deciding no. There was also no mistaking the shock on her face as she learned her real name was _Rachel;_ an explanation was owed for later. Rachel watched her go before answering his question; at the same time when she answered, it felt so heart-wrenching and so exhilarating to be in his arms again. But the way he looked now, unshaven and smelling that spoke of too few showers or so, made her heart break all the way again. Her "death" really did an enormous beat on him.

"I'm so sorry, Bruce," she whispered, drawing back to look into his eyes. "But it was for your safety, mine, and Gotham's."

"How was faking your death for mine?" he demanded, suddenly so angry that she drew back in fright. "Four years of locking myself in my own house and hanging up the cape and cowl because I knew I couldn't live life without you!"

"You think I _wanted_ this!" Rachel gasped, enraged. "I never wanted to leave all of this behind, but it was all necessary for the sake of our child!" She didn't unintentionally let it slip; it was meant to happen, and she wasn't afraid. Damien deserved to meet his father, and Bruce deserved to know that he had a son. And there it was: his anger gone, replaced by pure shock.

"We have...a kid?"

"Yeah, a son. Damien. I found out I was pregnant not long after I went into hiding." She looked around and found a loveseat; walking over to it, she sat down, knowing he would follow her. "He knows who his father is, but so much has happened I didn't know what to do once I knew it was safe to come back," Rachel said, looking him square in the eye.

"Why were you hidden?"

She sucked in a breath; she knew that was coming. "It's complicated, and you won't believe much of it...or anything at all."

~o~

She was happy with herself that Bruce Wayne made her work known to the world that night, but moreover, she finally knew how Evelyn knew him: they'd been childhood sweethearts, having grown up together in Wayne Manor until his parents died and she and her mother, the maid, moved out. She grew up to become a successful assistant district attorney and he just went on to do what he did best. He inherited his family's company, but they never became officially a couple because she was dating district attorney Harvey Dent until a vicious war-painted criminal called the Joker sent Gotham into panic, supposedly killing _Rachel Dawes_ in one of his planned explosions and leaving the DA without half a face.

 _Her name isn't Evelyn Miller. It's Rachel Dawes...and it's so weird since I've known her that way for so long._

The story reminded her of a tragic love tale, but then again, as she went back to Adisa's that following Monday night only to see Jonathan again, she had a buzz of more questions on her mind. If Rachel loved Bruce Wayne and had his son whom she'd raised on her own the last four years, then _why_ was she with Harvey Dent?

The best answer she could come up with was the simple idea that you don't have to go looking for who was your special someone; they're always right in front of you when you least expect it. That was her only answer as she sat at the bar, wearing a gray sweatshirt hoodie over a light blue t-shirt, black knit pants and boots...where she kept her secret weapon at all times that Gran Siobhán gave her as a child and told her to keep on her at all costs but to hide from the world "until the time was right". There was _always_ a "when the time is right" catch. Her senses tingled that something was going to happen tonight and begin another step in her ever-changing life. _Change is always for good or for worse, and I've been prepared._

Anna had the night for herself, but Rachel was nowhere to be found. Sinéad hadn't seen her since Friday night, so when she asked for her, Anna gave a little laugh. "She quit."

"What?" Sinéad blinked in surprise.

"She quit," the Hispanic repeated, wiping off the counter from the latest spills. "She handed it in over the weekend, then she and the kid moved in with Wayne. They're finally a family again." Anna gave a proud smile. "Damien always knew he had a father but never met him, so I have a feeling it won't be that bad."

There was another point underneath the surface that suggested there was more to know. It was as though she was...nervous about her friend moving in with the man she hadn't seen for four years, who was also the father of her child. "Anna, is something wrong?"

The other woman's eyes widened for a moment before fading to a smile. "No, why?"

"Because you seem like you don't -" Before Sinéad could finish, she heard voices behind her that she recognized too well; well, one. Spinning around, she saw Jonathan - Jonathan in a leather revealing costume that hid little for the imagination, and her cheeks flushed, her heartrate picking up at his body showed more for her eyes, namely the outlines best left for a girlish fantasy - being dragged for the back room by a man nearly twice his size, and then two more men followed in. Her stomach lurched at what was obvious to happen there, but there was no way in hell she would let them do horrible things to Jonathan. "Anna, could you excuse me?" She quickly left the bar without waiting for a reply and made her way to the restrooms - everyone shared the same one - so once she was inside and quickly closed the door, she waited for a few to make sure Anna's attention, as well as Al's, was away from this. If they saw what she was trying to do, then they would try to stop her for the sake of the club.

She leaned into the wall beside her and heard voices. Jonathan's was muffled, but he was panicking and trying to escape his fate, while maniacal laughs were heard and sadistic pleasures in hurting him. She didn't know if he knew those men before and they paid him back for whatever he did to them, or if they were random and simply knew him and wanted to "take justice" into their own hands. Either way, she reached for her dagger in her right boot and hid it up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, exiting the restroom. Sinéad had limited ninja fighting training, having taken many of them back home in Ireland and then in Gotham since the streets were dangerous enough.

Mermaids were kind, gentle creatures, but when offended, their rages were great, so the fire in her was no exception as she did her best to stick the point of the blade into the lock and turning it without making a sound, quickly hiding the blade again as the door was opened to show a balded man in black and numerous tattoos glaring down at her. "Bitch, what are you doing here?"

Behind him, Sinéad's temper burst when she actually _saw_ what they were doing to Jonathan: there he was, facedown on the bed used for "bigger tips", stripped naked of his costume and tied to all four posts eagle fashion while another man was positioned in a certain position between his legs while the third took pictures with a camera. They were going to post them for the world to see and humiliate Jonathan! She growled with a fury and shoved her way past in with all her strength. This she would _not_ allow, not even if she would risk her own freedom killing these monsters. Jonathandid _not_ deserve this, no matter what he did in the past.

"Let him go."

"Just who do you think you are, coming in on us like this, little lady?" the man with the camera drawled, ceasing his job and putting the device away. The one violating Jonathan from behind pulled himself out fast and rough, making the poor man cry out in pain and whimpered, joining his friends and not bothering to cover himself up. It sickened Sinéad to her core, drawing out the very blade her grandmother passed down to her: _Lann na beatha,_ translated to mean"blade of life". It was a weapon her family long held before she was born, but her parents never spoke anything about such lineages. Gran's family had been the magical creatures which she was, and her mother who was Siobhán's daughter was also a mermaid, but when her husband found out what she really was, he didn't leave her, but instead remained trapped in a marriage with an otherworldly creature under a human shell.

Sinéad's birth had been a curse to them; in Léan's case, she was the offspring of her and a man who no longer loved her and proved a burden to her, and in Brian's case, she also bore merfolk blood in her veins, which he never wanted to be associated with. Thank God the grandmother theory that grandchildren were loved more was passed down with truth.

It was usually the little blades you had to look out for, and in the case of the blade from Gran, it proved doubly true, not only because was it dangerous, but its stunning design was one not to miss by the victim's eye. The knot designs were similar to the Gaelic _sgian dubh,_ or stainless steel; the metal handle was gray and accented the lighter toned Celtic knots. Set in the pommel was a vivid green gemstone with more Celtic knot designs in red. _And such a perfect fantasy for an epic tale._ She grinned internally at the frightened looks the men gave her, as it was clear they had no weapons of her own.

"Damn, this bitch is crazy!" the second man shrieked like a little girl, backing away into the bed and nearly falling on top of Jonathan. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

"Yes, you boys get away from him," she agreed, still brandishing her weapon. "I don't know why you're doing this, and I don't care. But if I _ever_ catch either of you acidic porks near us again, you'll both get worse treatment from this to your boys." She pointed the dagger down south, motioning to their prized private parts, which scared the hell out of them instantly and made them turn and flee out yet _another_ back door. The cameraman had dropped his device, which cluttered loudly to the floor. Her plan was to destroy it outright if there was anything horrible on there that needed to go to the police.

Sinéad picked it up and discovered it was the type of camera meant for simple photography, and she really did want to retch when she saw the horrid pictures of the man still on the bed, wrists and ankles to the ends, and she quickly abandoned the vile camera, still unsure if it needed to be destroyed or not because it depended entirely on Jonathan, and pulled a blanket over his nude form while she used her knife to cut the wires that held his hands and feet, but he didn't move or make a sound.

Then she _saw_ it. Sinéad barely suppressed a gasp when she saw the elaborate design of wings on his back. _Phoenix wings. My God, he's a phoenix._ The detail of the wings, upon pulling the blanket down for a further look, was exquisite and so detailed that it'd be a tattoo for anyone's eyes, like hers would appear to be; only the ignorant ones. Without thinking, she reached out and ran the pad of her right forefinger over the middle of the wing covering his right side and shoulder...

...and then he howled in pain and bolted up, throwing the blanket off his body and running out through the same back door his assailants went, and into pouring rain. Sinéad reacted quickly and followed him out, safely tucking her knife back into her boot.

"Jonathan!"

There he was, out in the alley where no one else cared to be out at this time of night. Jonathan Crane was crouched in fetal position on the concrete ground, screaming in pain as though dying a violent death. She knew what was happening; he was changing, and physically, too. Never had she encountered a real phoenix before, but it was frightening. Jonathan's body began to convulse, and his hands and feet were sprouting talons and morphing hideously into bony bird-like appendages, moving to his limbs. He began to sit up slowly, painfully, as his body underwent a metamorphosis that any other human being would find appalling as they'd never seen before.

By the time Jonathan was sitting back up - Sinéad watched the whole time from the back door, closing it behind her as she stood out in the rain and witnessed the most shocking but not unexpected moment in her life - and kneeling as though bowing before his king or savior, the wings on his back began to become real ones, sprouting from the bones and tearing through flesh painfully, sparking real fire and blazing brighter than the sun. Sinéad brought her hand up before her eyes to keep her vision from going white with blindness. Jonathan's screams still echoed in her ears as the fire grew brighter enough to attract the attention of the whole neighborhood.

Some seconds passed by, but it felt like an eternity, and there was silence and darkness again, the rain still falling, and it worried her as she lowered her hand to show that all that remained of the phoenix was a shovel-pile of ashes. "Jonathan!" Sinéad ran over and quickly kneeled over, reaching out but not touching. If she touched it, who knew what would happen. According to most legends, phoenixes burst into flames when it was time to die, and reborn from the ashes.

And that was exactly what happened next. It was difficult to put into exact words, but from the ashes emerged a refreshed, still bare but otherwise unharmed Jonathan, his pale skin blotched with ash which was running now in dark streaks from the sky water.

His breathing was steady, but he looked so tired and worn out. It made her wonder if the blemishes inside his body, and internal scars, were healed from the fire. Die and reborn through fire, after all. He let out a gasp of precious air and laid down flat on his back, staring up at the sky blankly as an infant that had just left its mother's womb and wondering where he had just come to. Sinéad walked over to him and leaned down over him just to make sure he was all right. "Jonathan?" His name was a taste on her tongue too good for actual detailing, and it felt great. Because he needed her whether he needed help or not, as much as she wanted to help him now.

~o~

He stared up at her the whole time she leaned over him, the rain beginning to come into smaller amounts, but they were both still soaked, and his burning flesh was beginning to cool down. She, however, looked like a drowned rat in her clothes, but she didn't seem to care. The neckline of her shirt once more ruffled to show her mermaid insignia above her breast to him. Her long black hair was in thick, messy curls drenched. That was a siren right there above him; his body felt refreshed and pure as the oceans which the fabled marine creature herself lived, and the water from the sky above them both.

If Jonathan Crane had any money left, he would have gone to Egypt where others like him would go to nest and wait for their times to come. Phoenixes could live up to thirteen hundred years - most of them - and that was divided into about forty-two years for each human year. The process of dying was painful as any person would fear it would be, but none of them would have the pleasure of returning as he would. And to be replenished by the rain was a reward...but now having an ethereal but realistically beautiful face over him as he came back to himself was more than that, and even more when she saved him from those brutes.

He knew why they were here; they were once goons of the Chechen, blaming him for drugging customers with recreational drugs mixed with fear toxin, so after their boss was killed by Joker and the mob went down, they lost employment elsewhere and decided to take it out on him. He had to say he deserved it, but his other half said no. _No, they're lowlifes who seek pleasure in harming others for themselves. You sought only in observing fear and understanding it. You're not to blame._

The angel above him was smiling down at him upon knowing he was going to be fine, and now that Jonathan thought back to that morning in her apartment, perhaps he should reconsider her offer in a "date". Well, not maybe a date, but a get-together. She had done nothing to deserve his distrust of her.

But then Sinéad was no longer looking at him. She looked up to where the back door was, and Jonathan followed her gaze. There stood Anna Ramirez, one of the sick former cops in the mob's pay and working now at this bar, standing there and watching them, knowing what had transpired. He automatically assumed she knew more than she let on.

 **So Sinéad's knife from her grandmother was a real one, though I forgot what the name of the real blade was. As quoted, it was the "perfect fantasy for an epic tale" - exactly what this story is becoming. :D**

 **I had such fun writing Jonathan's transformation and rebirth. It was just symbolic in that his time was coming to move on mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually in the most unexpected ways imagined - and what made it better was that Sinéad herself had to be over him when he returned to being himself.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'd gone back and rediscovered "Alternative scenes" by Rena Estphan, in which it answers the question as to what if Rachel chose BRUCE instead of Harvey - and her letter explains it? I was inspired by that letter but chose not to show the actual written one, given actions speak louder than words. I always wanted Rachel to choose Bruce since before I began this story, and "Alternative scenes" was the basis of confirmation.**

Chapter Seven

A son...he had a son. His name was Damien, and he was four years old.

He was a spitting image of himself, even had the dark hair of both parents, and Bruce's brown eyes; however, the boy's had light and full of hope and happiness unlike his father. While Bruce held it in him that things might not get better after all, his luck changed altogether. He was still angry that the woman he loved, who made it clear in the last note she left him that she always loved him and would choose him over Dent after all, had been hiding from the world all this time just for protection. Any other person would say it was bullshit that they tried protecting them, that it was hardly an excuse.

And speaking of Dent, when he told her the truth, she had been utterly devastated that he had to sacrifice his cape and cowl for the greater good, covering up the fact that Harvey went mad because of Joker and over her "death" - but if the people of Gotham knew what really happened, then every criminal he locked up would be on the streets...and chaos would be irreparable, and the people would lose hope.

Her eyes had been shining with tears. "Harvey was always a good man," she'd whispered, "but in the end, he was torn down by a monster who proved that even a great man could fall." _Just like I said that night,_ Bruce thought in devastation. He could have left it there and allowed her to freely stay away from him, instead of waiting for her as he'd done all his life, but she remained by his side and with Damien.

Bruce had limited parenting experience, and he wasn't even there when his own child was born, wasn't there to watch him grow. But Alfred had been his only father figure since Thomas Wayne died, and no mother since Martha after that. No female figure besides Rachel, who was currently in the game room with their son, and Alfred was there with them, supervising and smiling broadly the whole time. Mother was smiling and laughing in her sleeveless navy blue dress and short, bouncy curls framing her face, and son was squealing for his mother and the old butler to look and see him winning.

Bruce felt left out; he just didn't know if he should join them. Damien liked him the moment Rachel brought them to meet last Saturday and made the decision to abandon their slums home permanently and so soon; he was happy that she told him who his father was because he deserved to know.

Bruce stepped away from the doorway and rested his whole back to the wall beside it. He'd just now thought about this; he'd always imagined himself and Rachel married with children, and now that both mother and child were in his life again - well, mother especially, and the child he was just getting to know - he wanted a real wedding to actually happen. But his other half wondered if she wanted to rush into that so soon when they'd been parted for so long and he was just learning about a son.

He already had the ring; it had been his mother's, and it was pure antique romance. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and held it between his forefinger and thumb. Victorian-inspired, like much of the manor before either of them were born, with five round sapphires so dark they were almost black resting in a yellow gold band embellished with a filigree scroll pattern.

"I believe the answer would be yes, Master Wayne."

Alfred stuck his whole self out through the doorway and found his "young" charge staring at his mother's old wedding ring. Bruce laughed nervously and put it away. "I don't know. We just got back together, our son needs to get to know his father more..."

"But remember the note, Master Bruce?" the butler reminded him. "She made it clear that when the day came when you were..." He lowered his voice. "...finished with Batman, she would be waiting for you. You hung up your cape and cowl, remember, but you never moved on from her to find another life. You just sat in this house waiting for something to happen again because Rachel was gone and nothing here for you now."

 _But she's here, and the wait was worth it,_ Bruce thought with a smile and a nod. And then the doorbell rang, getting both their attentions as well as the other two inside the game room. "Now who could that be at this hour?" Alfred muttered as he went to answer the door. Bruce followed him, not waiting for Rachel and Damien, in time to see none other than Sinéad Ryan - the young artist who brought him and the love of his life back together - Anna Ramirez, who he remembered used to be in Gordon's unit and left because she worked for the mob...and Jonathan Crane, former Arkham Asylum head and the infamous Scarecrow, all drowned out in the rain pelting in smaller amounts in the background.

"Miss Ryan, what a surprise to see you again," Alfred greeted her. "And who are your friends?"

"Anna!" Rachel whipped past Bruce and the butler, taking her friend into a hug. "What's happening?"

"And this is Jonathan," Sinéad answered to the butler, coming inside with the Scarecrow after the two women. Bruce had to say he wasn't expecting the former Arkham administrator to be here at _his_ house, and to know he and Rachel, as well as Ramirez, a dirty cop, had worked at the _same bar_ for the last four years wasn't pleasant. But then again, without trying to be mean, Crane couldn't just revert back to his old ways with his way of living now. But what about Ramirez?

Bruce abandoned his attention from the man who poisoned Rachel and the girl to the two women beside him. "What brings you here?" he asked, trying his hardest to be pleasant. The Hispanic looked wary and what she had to say wasn't going to be good. Was there _ever_ any good news at untimely hours?

And then Alfred cleared his throat. "Perhaps young Master Damien should retire to bed for the night and we get these three settled in during this storm, then we talk in the parlor room."

"Aww, Mommy," Damien whined, making everyone in the room laugh. "Do I have to now?" His mother admonished him before taking him upstairs herself.

~o~

Jonathan felt like a mouse being in the grand Wayne Manor, especially being around Rachel Dawes who had reunited with the father of her son, none other than the billionaire himself. However, he felt warm and comfortable by the fire with Sinéad by his side, and just being beside her made him feel a little safer. He chastised himself for being so weak that way.

The hot Earl Grey made by the butler couldn't compare to Sinéad's, but it made him want to crawl to sleep now, except he couldn't. He, she, and Anna Ramirez - revealed to be a "sight seer", or clairvoyant - were just telling the master of the house and the butler everything they needed to know. Well, to anyone else, they would just be called crazy. And Jonathan tried to piece it together that there was something about Wayne that made him think he was so familiar, and not from the way everyone else thought they knew...

"My mother and I have carried the Gift of Sight for centuries, through sixteen generations of the women in our family," Anna was explaining. "I was the one who convinced Rachel to go into hiding, and your son to go with her..."

"She told me all of that," Wayne interrupted calmly, "but I want to know how you three are involved."

"See this?" Jonathan turned his head to see his maybe-interest pulling the left side of her soft green shirt's lace-trimmed, modest neckline to show the black mermaid. "You know this means something, Mr. Wayne, and it's not just a tattoo."

Jonathan decided since she was revealing her secret, it was time to reveal his. "And this, as well." He stood and turned his back to them all, lifting up his t-shirt to show the elaborate wings on his back.

"You're a phoenix," Wayne stated, then to Sinéad, "and you're a mermaid. I won't find it hard to believe."

"You won't find it hard to believe that I'm not exactly the creature half-human from waist-side up," Sinéad joked, sitting back down, "and fish-like waist down, with the green-scaled tail, combing my hair constantly." _And slight webbing between the fingers, white and delicate like the skin between the egg and the shell,_ Jonathan thought, remembering one particular specimen. "My mother is one, but as a result, I was a burden to her and my father who are still in an unhappy marriage, but it was my grandmother who was a _merrow_ herself, Siobhán Carlin, who brought me up and told me the truth about everything and gave me sole guardianship of this." She reached into her left boot and pulled out the most fantastically carved dagger he'd ever seen, and it raptured the attention of Wayne and Alfred the butler. "This is the _Lann Na Beatha_."

"The Blade of Life," Alfred spoke with a nod. "Yes, I recall this story all too well. According to legend, the wielder gains extraordinary power for good or for evil, depending on your morals. The power to defend and protect the innocent, and to kill your enemies...but also to do something far more unspeakable than anyone would ever admit."

"Summon the undead," Sinéad answered. She put the weapon back into her boot. "Yes. I have to keep this from falling into the wrong hands. My gran made it clear all will be lost if this is taken out of our line of vision."

Jonathan found himself meeting Bruce Wayne eye-to-eye; the man was looking at him in a way that many looked at him after his release from Arkham two years before, but not in so much as a hostile way, the rest of the conversation about the weapon drowned out. He then shifted his attention away when Anna rose up, announcing she was heading upstairs to check on Rachel and her son. "Oh, pardon me, I'm coming," Alfred announced, joining her.

~o~

Damien was whimpering as he stood behind his mother at the man in black who approached them. Rachel gritted her teeth as she took in the sight of him with the black scarf over his mouth, knowing that he was a ninja from what Bruce told her about his experience with the League of Shadows. "Who are you?" she demanded.

She had been in the much more elaborate room than her son's old one, singing to him and reading to him until he fell asleep when Damien shrieked and shrank under the covers at seeing something behind her. This man was here for either her or Damien, or both; maybe he was part of the danger Anna was telling her about. He gave no answer, so she stood and reached for the gun she kept hidden behind her, just beneath the folds of her dress. Her son was scared more than ever as he shrank under the covers to try and hide. She would have suggested under the bed, but it was too late for that. Rachel had to defend her child the best she could. "I don't know what you want, but get out...of my house," she hissed, clicking the safety off.

He still gave no answer as he advanced towards her; his eyes had adverted down, and she knew he was eyeing Damien. She didn't know how he got in, not that it mattered now, but she was going to kill him if it meant risking Damien's sanity later in his life...

The door burst open, and Anna came in along with Alfred. Anna still carried her gun since defense and self-defense were the best she could do as an ex-cop. "Get away from them!" she yelled, firing a shot without hesitation, hitting the man square in the shoulder. It wasn't fatal, but it was enough to make him yell and fall down. "Rachel, Damien, get out of here!"

She grabbed her son out of the bed, held him in both arms as she ran past the fallen ninja and after Alfred. Anna stayed behind to give the guy another shot that actually killed him, but he wasn't alone when he came, it turned out. Three more appeared out of nowhere. Rachel screamed when she felt herself being tugged back, and her son wrenched out of her arms. Damien wailed as he was taken from his mother. "MOOOOMMMMYYYY!" he screamed as he was carried away and out through an opened window; Alfred and Bruce would always make sure the security system was tight, even after Fear Night, but as it turned out money didn't solve all your problems. Rachel tried fighting off the ninja holding her down, but he spun her around and threw her into the opposite direction and straight into Bruce's arms.

"DAMIEN!" he roared as he bounded after the kidnappers for their son, jumping out the window after them. _My Bruce, valiant as ever...but he won't make it,_ she thought worriedly as much as she tried to shove it down. She'd found herself shoved into Jonathan Crane's unwilling hold as her lover went for their child.

He made a face and pushed her aside; bastard, when was he ever going to put his hatred for her aside? Things were starting to get a little better now; well, for her at least, and ought to for him now that he had Sinéad by his side. _If she can heal him, as Al said._

Anna had shot down the other ninja that didn't make it out alive, but that didn't stop the other two fast enough. Rachel left Jonathan and Sinéad, dashing past Anna and Alfred to leap out the window herself and find herself on a balcony overlooking the wooded area and part of the road, showing Bruce collapsed and defeated on the ground. Damien was nowhere in sight.

She felt like crying as she leaned over the railing and let the first tear fall and land elsewhere. He'd failed, and part of the reason was because nearly five years of no fighting cost his strength. _And our son is in danger. God, it's also my fault because I didn't try my hardest to protect him_. _What are we going to do now?_

 _And_ where _is he being taken?_

~o~

She had been waiting in the darkness of the car patiently when two of her men returned; she automatically assumed the others were dead. No matter; they were slow fools anyways. The important thing was that they had the child.

He was subdued by the time Lee arrived with him. "I hope you didn't use too much chloroform," she admonished him with a wave of the finger as he dumped the boy onto the seat before her of the "borrowed" limousine. "I'd hate for you to kill him when we need him the most."

He laughed nervously and shook his head. "No, madam. He's just out like a nocturnal critter as you wished."

"Good. Now get us out of here, both of you."

He joined Zhiang in the front of the car and revved the engine up, getting them out of here and taking them to her private jet. Smiling, she leaned forward and revealed her face from the shadows to the sleeping child. He would fuss and beg for his parents once he awoke, but she would be the one to put him in his place. _His parents will come for him, eventually. We need his mother anyway, for this._

 _Father will be avenged soon enough,_ Talia al Ghul thought with a cruel smile as she imagined the pain she would cause Bruce Wayne - Batman - like he caused her.

 **And now we introduce a major villainess meant to be a surprise: Talia. :D She's pure, independent wickedness with the obvious motive of resurrecting her father for revenge against Batman, similar to TDKR. And she needs little Damien for this, and who knows what role mommy Rachel will play in this. It's gonna be hot and rocking, so hold on tight. We're getting into "The Mummy Returns" now with this! ;D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Since I've said enough before that there's dialogue from the movies inspiring me, as well as certain places and events to take place, this will be the last time. Anyone who's seen the Brendan Fraser "Mummy" films know what transpires each time.**

Chapter Eight

 _I failed,_ Bruce thought in despair as he hung his head into both hands, aware that all eyes were on him but refused to acknowledge them. He sat at the bottom of the stairs staring at the polished marble floor, silence tensing the room until Sinéad was the first to break it.

"Just sitting here isn't going to bring your son back."

"I want him back," Rachel answered, hands on her hips, and Bruce finally looked up at her, seeing her sweet face wet and shining. "I don't care what we have to do; I want him back, Bruce. Get him back for us."

He was about to ask where those people would take their son when Ramirez spoke up. "I wouldn't worry about him too much; they won't harm because he's the key. And he's not all they want."

Bruce frowned; if they had his son, what more did they want? "What else are they looking for?" he asked, standing and moving beside Rachel.

"They're taking him out of Gotham, out of the country period," Ramirez explained, a faraway look in her eyes now present. _She's having visions_ , Bruce realized. He wanted terribly to dismiss this fantasy-meets-reality, fact versus fiction as nonsense, but barriers broke all the time. "To a place surrounded by deserts, pyramids and statues of pharaohs long ago..."

"Egypt," he heard Crane murmur aloud. "It's where others of my kind go to nest and wait for their time to die and reborn. But why would they take him there?" Phoenixes were very rare and powerful, so he thought briefly back to when he was still working for Ra's al Ghul. Bruce's old mentor turned enemy had piqued interest in the then-asylum director because he must have possessed some abilities of great use to feed his "immortality". And Bruce saw him die when the monorail crashed, so he'd be dead now. _How can you die if you're supposed to live forever?_

Ramirez let out a small quivering breath as she stretched beyond what she was seeing. "They're going to a place deep into the desert, a place not barren fully, but nourished with paradise and purgatory...and power. Where a great pyramid topped with a diamond blinding in the sunlight and beckoning travelers to their deaths..."

Bruce remembered reading about this as a child, in school and with Alfred. "Ahm Shere," he whispered, getting all eyes back onto him. "Whereas they would bestow the wealth of Egypt safe in the land of pharaohs, there was one truly dangerous, too dangerous for anyone to bury a powerful person."

Alfred took over for him. "It's written that the Oasis of Ahm Shere was blessed by the powerful high priest Imhotep whose mummy has never been found to this day, not even at this tomb we speak of because the Egyptians feared it. It's believed to be the waiting and resting place of a person the most evil and blasphemous, but also for those too extreme and hungry for power to be brought back far greater - and more dangerous - than ever before."

Rachel gasped. "That bad," was all she could manage, leaning into Bruce and holding onto him tight. _That bad,_ he agreed internally. He didn't want to upset her more by picking up, instead choosing to let the butler himself continue.

"Yes, but as far as it goes like any other legend, the resurrected is brought back into the mortal world with the blood of a phoenix for eternal life itself...and the sacrifice of the mother of the hero's child." He sucked in a breath and attempted to hold himself together.

Bruce held onto Rachel tighter than before; she gave a wail of protest. He didn't remember seeing her this way before, but they were parents now, their son was in danger, and now they were hearing all of this rituals, sacrifices, resurrection stuff that existed only in mythology and ancient texts. He looked up when Jonathan piped up.

"That's why he wanted me. Why Ra's al Ghul wanted me. I remember the day we met like it was yesterday, seven years before, not too long before I became head of Arkham."

~o~

 _He was here in Cairo following acquiring his PhD; basically, he was studying abroad temporarily because of how the season was doing for his "predicament". He could not work anytime under the feverish sensations, for in less than a decade, the time was coming, and he could feel it. To say he was looking forward to it was an understatement._

 _Dr. Jonathan Crane...after so many years of hard work, he was ecstatic that his future was on track. He was now a respected doctor at Arkham Asylum, having served as an intern and getting his degree fairly quicker than the average student. It wouldn't be the first time before him, but he had every right to be proud of himself despite his recent sickness. This weather was good to help him that it was rare in Gotham. In younger years in Georgia, when his granny would nap late in the afternoon, besides slipping into the "forbidden room", he would slip out back and bask in the burning southern sun, his sensitive skin relishing it as it was made that way...especially the "wings" on his back..._

 _Today he found himself in the Casbah, enjoying one of the local whiskeys just for the sake of getting lightheaded and just sleeping in his room as soon as he was finished. He spoke certain languages of the world besides English; others included Gaelic as well as Latin itself, and Arabic in this case. However, making friends was not on his list of priorities, because just how many people would be willing to be friends with him anyway? His colleagues tolerated him, but one day when he was the director of the asylum, he would not worry about being fired if anything got out of hand. But above all, no one would ask him questions about his seasonal lashes of an apparent fever..._

 _"Oh, I must say that a young man like yourself should not be having a drink alone."_

 _He jerked his head up and glared at the sight of the man who dared to come and sit in front of him. The stranger was dressed in black, with an obvious noble air around him, and his eyes were blue if darker than Jonathan's own. A part of the younger man's mind insisted that he should get up and leave, but his body refused because of the whiskey remaining in his system and he swore to himself for it. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked coldly, sitting up straight and reaching to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to let a small amount of cool air over his skin._

 _The strange man chuckled. "Do not become defensive with me. I mean you no harm, but I did happen to get curious as to what an American brings himself all the way to Egypt?"_

 _"What business is this of yours?" He had enough life experience to know that strange men asking him what brought him away from his homeland were trouble, but this one was really persistent. Just exactly as he asked: what did he want of Jonathan?_

 _"Young man, this is not the first time I recognize suspicion in my motives. I have none of the sort that match what you are thinking. I merely see you up to my expectations that I wish to advance you...Dr. Crane."_

 _He stiffened and was tempted to just stand and leave then and there. "How did you know my name?" The older man chuckled again._

 _"I have my resources. My name is Henri Ducard, but the truth is that I am known as Ra's al Ghul to my people - a vast organization that eradicates the scum of the earth. And you, my friend, have a gift that I was able to detect miles away..."_

~o~

Ra's al Ghul was Arabic for "the demon's head". Sinéad remembered him amongst the many tales from other cultures besides Ireland. He was supposedly the immortal leader of a secret society known as the "League of Shadows", capable of destroying a whole city in the name of restoring the balance. Six years before, Gotham's Narrows neighborhood underwent destruction and plagued with some unknown "fear toxin", chaos and insanity erupting the neighborhood and therefore rendering it too dangerous for anyone who would set foot again. The "Scarecrow" had been the cause...none other than Jonathan next to her. _He did bad things, but as Gran said, what happens in the past stays in the past. Damn whoever isn't willing to let go._ But what did that have to do with this Ra's al Ghul?

Jonathan's voice interrupted her; his story of his meeting al Ghul involved his life before now. "I had no idea he was going to destroy Gotham," he said to everyone. "You all are well aware of my fascination with studying fear in people, and I thought he would only hold the city ransom; please understand I just needed the money to fund my research, and I would have made a breakthrough that could have cured people in facing fear."

She looked to Rachel's face, finally seeing some level of understanding. "Greed is a common human trait," she whispered, and Sinéad had to agree. Human nature wasn't perfect; addiction, greed, and desire were all part of it. Sometimes she liked to think ambition was part of her own in her knack for creativity.

"They have the body of Ra's al Ghul at Ahm Shere," Anna interrupted them, "and Jonathan, with the story you share with him, this means that you are the tool for giving his eternal life back. Your blood in his veins is what they need."

"But if they need me included, then why wouldn't they bring me along?" he countered.

"They want us to follow them to Ahm Shere," Anna responded, her features hardening. "This all means the end of the world once Ra's al Ghul rises again, and he will raise the army of Set once he does."

 _The old "wipe out the world" ploy,_ Sinéad thought sarcastically; she would have thought it a funny joke if it weren't a reality check. Being a mythical being in human form was both a gift _and_ a curse. A gift meaning you can do many things, but a curse because others who weren't moral see it to their own advantage.

"Then in that case," Bruce spoke, "we must charter a private jet and go to Egypt. We're getting our little boy back," he added, looking down at Rachel, who nodded an affirmative. Seeing that, Sinéad wondered about what it would be like for herself to have children of her own, with Jonathan whom she had grown very fond of but wanted to get to know more. _If we get out of there alive; I don't know if any of us will make it in the end, like in the great tales where lives are sacrificed for the greater good. I grew up reading them, carried a burden of what I really am, and carried the most powerful weapon passed down from generation to generation that I still have to keep out of the wrong hands. Now I have to help two people I helped get back together get their son back._

 _This is going to be one of the biggest times of my life._

She looked up into Jonathan's blue eyes, seeing the uncertain fire in them that sparked one in her own body. _Or maybe the end of it._

~o~

Being aboard a first-class aircraft owned by Wayne Enterprises was surreal. Rachel used to love getting on board with Bruce when they were younger and after his return to Gotham. The name was the 787 Dreamliner, and it was spacious with a bar along with the cabins, and with a quiet engine and the ability to go ten thousand miles with a full fuel tank.

Rachel sat at the far right end of the extended plush lounge, changed into a floral denim shirt opened to a white tank and jeans. Jonathan and Sinéad were at the table against the window, simply talking and the likes, about whatever it was while they had the long journey to Cairo airport and eventually take a train deep into the Western Desert where they would be given horses to travel for the rest of the journey. "We have only seven days before Ra's al Ghul is awakened," Anna told her as she sat down next to her. "His loyal followers are in no hurry to begin the ritual when we're still a long way off."

She'd heard enough of this; Rachel just wanted some peace and think about her little boy who for all she knew was cold and alone, shivering and crying out for his mother's protection, and it made her so heart-wrenchingly unhappy that she felt like crying real tears for everyone to see. Alfred had to stay behind at the manor but agreed to keep them updated.

Bruce was just walking in after speaking to the pilot for take-off. He found her and gave a half-smile as he joined her at the other end she'd abandoned Anna for. "We'll find him, Rachel; don't worry about it." He moved closer to pull her to him. Leaning into his shoulder, Rachel sighed as she inhaled his musky scent, easing her senses.

"I want him back, Bruce." She just couldn't stop saying it. "I want him in my arms."

His lips were warm and comforting on her forehead. "He's a smart boy, and he'll might as well be tougher than me," he joked, trying to make her laugh, and it worked. But it also made her worry for _his_ fighting skills once they actually reached the climatic point in this journey. He had been confined to the manor for nearly five years, stunting his speed and strength. _He might not make it...damn it, girl, don't think like that. Have faith, as Anna would say. As Mom used to say._

Then she looked down and stared at the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen in her life in his hand; rich gold set with five dark sapphires... _his mother's ring._ "Bruce?" _Oh, no, it's happening. He's going to..._ She stopped the thought right there because another plagued her mind. Bruce was going to pop the question at an ungodly time when their son was in danger across the ocean, but this was what she'd always waited for.

"I know it's a bad time," he apologized, his voice low but still apologetic and promising, "and I know I still need to get to know my son, and he comes first, but if we ever get out of here alive, I want you to marry me, Rachel. I want us to be a family, and I waited for you long enough as you did the same for me."

No words needed to be spoken, so she nodded and accepted the wedding band on her finger just to see how it would look on her. It fit snug on her finger, the very image of old-fashioned romance. _True love is always worth the wait._ Rachel finally let the tears come and kissed Bruce for making her feel only a little better at this dire time.

~o~

It was ironic how Ra's al Ghul would turn his power-hungry eyes on the Army of Set, the god of deserts, storms and all things chaotic. Set himself was always considered an evil deity, and a friend of the dead. Ra's al Ghul tried to destroy Gotham, so this was no surprise, but it still had to be stopped. _And Jonathan tried to help him before,_ Sinéad thought, looking at the man with his head down across the table from her. _But he didn't know what he was_ really _doing._

She wasn't a psychologist, but from her little research on him, he'd once been the head doctor of the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane who was fascinated with the study of fear and its effects on the mind. He was never married, never had a girlfriend in any way, accelerated in every class in his school years, went to Gotham State University and graduated with a PhD in psychopharmacology at age twenty-three. For a year he was professor of psychology at his alma mater before being dismissed for "unorthodox teaching methods". _In that case, I wonder how he managed to get a job and eventually become director of Arkham Asylum._

And _then_ things went downhill from there. Dr. Crane was stripped of his title and degree upon being arrested by both the Batman and then-Sergeant Jim Gordon for using a hallucinogenic toxin on his patients and none other than assistant DA Rachel Dawes. Since then, for two years, he was in observation and released to the lifestyle she knew him now.

 _But what about his life_ before _all of this? I remember him briefly mentioning a grandmother who possibly mistreated him, and Bruce, Rachel, and Anna are in the room,_ she thought with a quick glance around said room. He wasn't going to want to talk about his past with them around, but they had time before they reached Egypt, and this might be her only chance to piece it together before it killed them.

"Jonathan?" Her hand on his, his skin warm beneath hers and sending electrical shocks through her nerves, brought him out of his own little world and looked up at her with tired blue eyes filled with mild irritation. "We might not make it out alive -"

"We _will_ ," he answered calmly. "Don't ask me how; I just know."

"And I know more on mythology since your specialty was fear," Sinéad interrupted frostily, knowing well. "I won't have one of us regret not knowing anything about the other so we cared enough to help them, or one of us regretting not opening up about our past so that we felt good to have told someone our darkest secrets." Her voice nearly raised, and it was a miracle she kept it down from the others in the room.

The man before her looked at her with a slackened jaw, before he snapped it closed and glared at her. "Very well, Miss Ryan," he said coldly, back to last names again; she didn't like it one bit. Now she knew she went too far, but it was too late to turn back now. "I shall tell you my secrets which are best kept to myself and myself only."

~o~

 _"No, Granny, no. Please, not again," the young boy whimpered as long, bony fingers latched around his slender arm, sharp nails digging into the bared flesh enough to leave marks. She dragged him out the front door and across the fields to where the old church lay beyond, the dark clouds covering the setting sky in a perfect omen._

 _"Your pleas are never useful, you disgusting sinful child," the old woman hissed, dragging him until they got to the front of the door and proceeded to tear off the already worn t-shirt off his torso to expose what had been on his back since the day he was born: the fiery wings of blue-tinted red and orange. She hissed that she'd actually touched them; she smiled when she scratched a nail on one, drawing a little dark blood and made him cry out in pain._

 _"This is proof that you are the Devil's child. Your harlot of a mother conceived before marriage with a man hardly worthy of God's graces - and she got what she deserved when you exited her filthy womb." She opened the door and shoved him inside, locking it. "And for that, you shall pay for your sinful birth."_

 _"No, Granny, NOOOOO!"_

 _And then he heard them...the wings flapping and the demonic caws..._

 **The 787 Dreamliner is a real aircraft that I had to bring into here. :D "The Mummy Returns" is a must-see, inspiring film for anyone, if not everyone.**

 **In the third, recent chapter of "Phoenix Burning", young Jonathan (eighteen in that story) met Ra's while he was in Indonesia for "burning season", and they conversed and learned speaking languages and such; Latin was amongst and worked its way in with the others I mentioned. I mean, so many aspects of psychology and medicine have Latin names. In addition, it had to happen before he became head doctor, and he had to have been studying abroad when he met Ra's al Ghul who was still searching for Bruce Wayne - or might have been teaching him at the time, and left him in the East for a short period of time for whatever reasons.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Standing and leaving the table and a clearly shocked and utterly mortified Sinéad, as well as the other three who had turned their attention to hear his story - _his_ story and _his_ burden - behind. Slamming and locking the door, he turned on the water to hot and tried to burn his face off, only making his skin red and adding to the fire that lived in his bloodstream. He'd long ago closed himself off from any form of relationships, but why did he do this to _her?_ He remembered that day at her apartment when he told her about his hatred for the Batman and Rachel Dawes, and she'd told him that the past couldn't be changed no matter what.

 _"_ _I don_ _'_ _t know the whole story, but whatever happened between you and Evelyn is all in the past. And whoever else treated you wrong, they do not exist anymore. They_ _'_ _re either out there living shitty lives or dead and rotting in the goddamn ground. And from what I can tell, you have severe trust issues which came from childhood terror which I know too well, but you don't see me inflicting that on others around me. So you better listen to me real good, Mr. Crane; I_ _'_ _m here to help you, and I_ _'_ _ll be doing it on my own with or without Evelyn's help. And if anyone ever tries to pull shit on either of us, they_ _'_ _ll answer to me._ _"_

He uttered a noise that combined a sob and a laugh. His pride had been bruised enough as it was, and his life had been hard enough. Sinéad Ryan was the only girl ever to treat him, Jonathan Crane, like a person, and her life had been nearly the same as his own if not counting an abusive grandmother; for that he envied her. _But she still cares. I should thank her for making me feel better about myself. She was there for me when she rescued me from those three, and she was by my side after the renewal._ He remembered how soaked she looked, like the siren she was, and her natural floral perfume reaching his nose mingled with the fresh rainwater, and it kindled a feeling he knew he hadn't felt in a _long_ time since he was a teenager caught doing something he shouldn't be doing.

He paused there, blinking there, staring at the man in the reflection. The bags beneath his eyes were gone, his skin getting more color to the cheeks, and his wild raven hair now shining and naturally so, unlike it had been as of late. No longer the ill-appearing man in the plain clothes that fit him and not his self - now he wore a light blue collared shirt and tight jeans to half-reflect who he was - he was beginning to change for the better because of one woman who ignited his spirit in a short amount of time. A woman who was really another being like he, even if their hobbies and elements differed. Art and fear, one innocent and the other not, but both full of creativity. Water versus fire, but still balancing the universe.

There was a knock on his door, and Jonathan knew it was her. He opened the door and found himself staring down into her soft green eyes. _Like the fields of Ireland_. Set against a field of snow white, with a dainty nose and pale pink lips narrower than his, framed by hair black as a raven's wing, like his, spiraling over both shoulders. Her crisp white blouse was untucked over tight khakis, and it was...sexy. That word was never his to use, but it was true. He gave her a small smile. "I know why you're here, and I'm not going to shut you out anymore," he promised.

Sinéad smiled back. "Good," she said softly before leaning up and giving him a small peck on the mouth, stunning him instantly. _So soft, so warm..._

~o~

Egypt was one of the many dreams for tourists, with its ancient history and mythologies, as well as the iconic Giza Pyramid and its Great Sphinx; the ruins known were Memphis, Thebes, Karnak, and the Valley of the Kings. _All of which remains a significant focus of archaeological study,_ Bruce thought as he descended the stairs from the train with his companions. It was like stepping into the pages of a book; he was the hero with his closest friends and comrades by his side.

The journey through the desert by train to the beginning of the Western Desert where the whole lands of ruins existed had taken a day, and the rest by horses would be a maximum of five, six days. Upon this news broken to the rest, Rachel once again protested. "We'll never make it in time."

"Don't give up on our son now," Bruce admonished her as he mounted his horse after helping her onto hers. Hers was a magnificent brown mare, and his was a bold black stallion. Jonathan had a honey-colored one nearly matching a camel, Sinéad a brown-and-cream one, and Anna a soft cream one with mild brown spots. "We've come prepared for this, and the whole world depends on us."

They had to stop at night somewhere in the desert for rest before moving on, and it would be that way just to ensure they didn't waste precious energy in their rescue mission. They didn't set up any tents, but their horses were tied together and to a large rock on the land that just happened to be there when luck favored them. Ramirez took her place as the "human watch dog" while slipping in between sleep moments of her own for the night. Bruce noticed how Jonathan and Sinéad had gotten a bit closer to each other since the flight. He assumed they'd been that way before all this, but knowing a man like Jonathan Crane would have severe trust issues with people, he'd have thought the blue-eyed man would sneer and shove the girl away. Somehow she healed him. Arkham clearly didn't do anything to help him, and _she did._

He noticed this even more as they shared the same sleeping bag together, Jonathan spooning behind her and holding her close, then she turned over to snuggle into him. He thought it cute but weird at the same time. He heard the man's story regarding his grandmother who abused him and began to feel sorry for him a little.

Bruce moved over to where Rachel lay, her back facing him. She'd laid down the moment their sleeping spot was set up and hadn't once said another word to him. The Rachel he remembered used to open her mouth about everything, but now that Damien was in the picture, she began to distance herself more and more. She was a mother worried sick for her child. Bruce sighed and slipped beneath the covers, scooping up behind her and holding her close, inhaling the musky flowers on her skin. She moaned but didn't wake. He wondered what she was dreaming about, wondered if it was good or bad.

~o~

 _The noises she hears upon awaking are that of voices. Lifting her head, she sees that she is in a bar that she remembers coming to early in her years as ADA, just for a couple drinks after work before retiring home. However, it baffles her._ How did I get here? _she wonders as she looks around and notices she's still wearing the clothes she wore in the desert. The bar is mostly empty, save for herself and the person beside her._

 _Looking at the stranger more closely, Rachel notices that it is a woman, with long dark hair and wearing a violet-colored knit dress and staring down at her drink, a shot of bourbon. Why was a woman like her doing in a place like this? Didn't she have a family or a home to go to...?_

 _And then Rachel's eyes fall to the two rings on her left hand, facing her direction. She knows those rings even though she hasn't seen them for years; a classically styled white gold duo with a brilliant center diamond and intricately engraved details. And then her gaze travels up north to the woman's face, where she finally sees the dark curtain fall away to show a visage she hasn't seen for eight years. "Mom?" she whispers, getting no response. She tries again. "Mom?"_

 _She was being ignored, and it angers her, but then it dawns on her that she has to be dreaming. Nobody else pays attention to her, not even the bartender who is busy with closing up for the night._

 _A second voice enters the dense atmosphere; it is a voice she also remembers all too well after six years, when she'd seen the face only once. "Not good to have a drink alone, is it?"_

 _Her mother, once named Lena, turns her attention to her right where the man in black, with handsome aristocratic features and a mustache, was smiling at her. Rachel can't see her face, but can tell from her tone of voice that she agrees with him. "No, not when you've just lost your husband." She has to be drunk, because Rachel does not ever recall her mother being one to go off with some random stranger she only just met._

 _Even when the stranger is_ Ra's al Ghul _. Bruce's mentor before he turned out to be the opposite of what the Wayne heir aimed for the city. Rachel is beginning to get the chills in her bones. Seeing her mother's rings, she is back to baffled. She never knew her father, having been told he died before she was born, and now that she sees in this...dream, or vision, her mother telling a younger Ra's al Ghul that she'd just lost her husband. A thought crosses her mind._ If Dad is dead, then why is she drinking when she's _pregnant_?

 _"Husband? Ah, I give you my sympathies, Mrs...?"_

 _"Dawes. Lena Dawes. Whoever would you be?" she asks curiously, loosening her fingers on her glass._

 _"My name is merely Henri Ducard." The name he used to disguise his true identity and left his true name for a decoy Bruce had seen die. "You don't know me, yes, but I suffered a loss recently myself. My wife, my great love, was taken from me, as well. I know what it is like to lose someone you love." He looks at Lena in a way that makes Rachel cringe, and the horrible realization worse than it already is. "Forgive me if I'm being too straightforward, but is there any way I can convince you to join me for a private drink of our own to mourn our lost loves?" He looks at her closely. "Or are there any children awaiting for your return?"_

 _Lena shakes her head, and her dreaming daughter knows she isn't lying; her mother never lied in her life. "No children. I wish I had, to hold a last piece of him." She stands upon accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her out the door._

 _Rachel watches them go, her gut clenching tighter and tighter until she is unable to breathe anymore, and prays she awakes screaming in Bruce's arms, too afraid to tell him at first until she forces herself to only for the sake of getting it out into the open..._

~o~

Talia smirked as she sensed the unsteady waves of panic through the air. It worked, and satisfaction coursed her veins as she stared down at the perfectly preserved body of her father wrapped in white and waiting patiently as it had been for six years. Recovered from the wreckage of the Wayne Enterprises monorail with whatever left her spies survived Fear Night, Ra's al Ghul's corpse had quickly been whisked out of the city and to her secret quarters in Spain for a year until word that the Batman had taken the fall for the death of Harvey Dent. And Rachel Dawes believed dead by the rest of the world save for the Hispanic wench who rode her tail long enough.

Talia hissed. To think that she had a half-sister like the meddlesome assistant district attorney who had been the love of Bruce Wayne's life, the mother of the son of the man who murdered her father. It sickened her, and when the time came, revenge would be sweeter than the finest sugar of the planet. She would never be ashamed or regret it ever.

~o~

Bruce was shocked, as anticipated, as she told him her dream. Jonathan and Sinéad were still asleep by the time she told her lover and Anna her dream - or rather, a flashback she never knew about until now, and had no idea why now or _how_ , not that the latter mattered. _Ra's al Ghul is my father...WAS my father. He and my mother, after her real husband died whom I'd thought was the man who made me...God damn it all to hell._

"Rachel, I don't know what to say..." Bruce said, sounding just as lost as she was.

"That makes us both," she said, leaning her head backwards against the rock. "It was a memory of a life before I even existed. It makes sense now, but it also makes me sick." Her stomach rumbled for emphasis. "My father is the man who tried to destroy Gotham, he tried taking you under his wing, and now he has our son. His _grandson."_ She leaned her head back forward to put her forehead in both hands in despair. Bruce's strong hands came to rest on her back and pulled her closer.

Anna's voice ended the agonizing moment with more of her words of wisdom. "I agree that it's horrible to know, but look at the bright side, the both of you. Bruce, you were literally destined to be with this woman, birthed by the man who taught you and you turned on for a good cause."

She silently agreed with her, but Bruce sounded more disbelieved. "Right, Ramirez. She's the daughter of the Demonhead, and I'm the Dark Knight who grew up with her and was trained by her father, a man I thought was good until he showed me his true colors."

"And your son is the leverage for his resurrection, possibly his next heir to his line instead of you. And his mother, the daughter of the Demonhead, sacrificed for his rebirth and the rise of his army. Three sides of the pyramid. This was preordained thousands of years ago."

"And the story ends tragic as all great tales," Rachel stated dully and feeling her hearing vanish, even though she heard what Anna said correctly.

"Only the journey's written, not the destination. And this wasn't coincidence, either, with your reunion and those two involved in this," she added with a glance to the sleeping couple in the short distance. "There is always a fine line between coincidence and fate."

 **I always thought it was vital that Rachel be tied to Ra's and Talia somehow, and it had been a real challenge as to how to bring that to life - and then it hit me: what if she was his DAUGHTER, therefore marking her as Talia's half-sister? And it had to happen after his exile but before he reunited with Talia.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Once more, quoted research on oases, which have never been more beautiful in real life as depicted in picturesque scenery. Sarah Brightman herself, in the "Harem" DVD special, had explained that when she was in the locations of the making of the feature, the oasis was even more beautiful than she imagined it would be.**

 **I had to read "The Mummy Returns" wiki for the information of Ahm Shere's Oasis for the details mentioned.**

Chapter Ten

Sinéad had never traveled outside Ireland when she was still living in her native homeland, nor had she ever been outside of Gotham. To be in Egypt where the ancient pharaohs lived long ago was too good to be true and dangerous at the same time. The sun beat down on the group on their horses as they covered great distance and speed, not once stopping until they would get to their destination. Of course, they stopped once in awhile for water and the nutrition bars they brought with them before continuing.

Sinéad recited the clear details of an oasis in general as they galloped through golden sands and blistering heat. _Oasis: an isolated area of vegetation in the desert, typically surrounding a spring or similar water sources. It provides habitat for animals and even humans if the area is big enough. Given the known story, the Oasis of Ahm Shere has to be big enough for whatever perils lie hidden, like in the other tales. Danger lurks in every corner._ "Did you know the Oasis of Ahm Shere is also known as the Sacred Desert?" she yelled over to the others, only asking out of habit. She recieved a no from Rachel, her being the only exception.

"Sacred being a damn good keyword," Anna answered. "Because we'll have to always be on our guard once we come to, arm ourselves with the weaponry we brought."

Jonathan gave a sardonic laugh. "It's not that I don't have knowledge in these myths and fantasies, but what can we expect more than bats and insects that you would find in any other desert or jungle global?"

"There are more than just bats and insects, Jonathan," Anna said. She'd begun to be a little nicer towards him since the start of the adventure, to which Sinéad started to like her moreover other than the bitch she remembered her as. "Everyone, expect pygmies in the jungles."

"Pygmies?" Bruce's attention was raptured off the bat and in disbelief once more. Disbelief was often used over-the-top, but who can blame the person who is?

"Murderous mummified midget beings created by Imhotep himself because he wouldn't want any trespassers going into his oasis," Anna answered with a crooked grin played for humor, but no one in the group thought it funny at all. Not even Sinéad, who knew funny, and this wasn't it. This was talk of death traps awaiting for them. "The last ones to ever come to were troops sent by Alexander the Great, Rameses IV, Julius Caesar, as well as Napoleon Bonaparte."

Bruce laughed. "Good for Alexander, same with Rameses, but too bad what happened to Caesar's career." Rachel and Sinéad giggled together with him. "And we're taller and smarter than Napoleon." This was where Jonathan had his turn. "But all their men never lived to return and tell the tale."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Isn't that always the story?"

Sinéad turned to her side and looked at him with a wink. "Always one of the best parts." _But not in reality when you know your time comes for the real battle to the death._ The Blade of Life still rested deep within her boot, safeguarded, but she knew that Ra's al Ghul's minions would search them and find it soon, and use it for the unspeakable ritual coming up. _To take Jonathan's blood and Rachel's life..._

She brought her brown-and-cream mare up beside Jonathan's honey-colored one and lowered her voice, their distance a short way behind the others now. "How come you never came here to refresh yourself?" He would catch on what version of "refresh" she meant. He gave a sarcastic laugh.

"As if that's not obvious enough. I never had the money to travel here and back to Gotham after my release from Arkham."

She scoffed and shook her head. "I still don't understand why you stayed in Gotham where your next worse experiences live."

Silence settled between them for a few moments before Jonathan answered her. "Because I have no other place suitable for myself to start fresh. I couldn't return to Georgia because that holds too many demons of my past I would rather leave. After my grandmother suffered a heart attack shortly after I graduated high school and was about to go to Gotham State." His voice was thick with dredging up his painful past, so she asked no more, instead settling on an alternative.

"Jonathan..." He turned his attention towards her, one eyebrow raised. "... _if_ we ever get out of here, would you like to leave Gotham and go back to Ireland with me?" She hadn't been back there since Gran died, and her parents never gave a damn about her anyway. And it was her home, no matter how much time passed by and no matter how hard she would ever try to run away from it. "My parents and I don't speak anymore, so I couldn't care less leaving them to rot by themselves."

He looked surprised at the proposition, but then he quickly turned to look ahead. "I don't know about this. I haven't left America for years, and I don't know about now. And I have never lived with a woman. One more thing," he added with a nervous smile, "I can't even give you what any man would have given you."

Sinéad snorted; she knew what he was implying. _Money, security, a roof over our heads...all those silly things any woman would die for._ "I don't need anything from you," she countered. "Only comfort and security with what we have already. We have plenty of time to make it work, Jonathan. And I'll make sure you get back on track instead of bars and that other shit." He looked shocked at her use of language, and she laughed at his expression.

~o~

She'd traveled globalwide while growing up in the League of Shadows, following the death of her mother and her escape from the Pit deep in Saudi Arabia. There were many things she witnessed, anything realistic to believe and others too fantastical that blurred the lines of fact and fiction. Talia's birth in the Pit had hardened her heart and rendered her incapable of any form of attachment, since her mother had been taken from her and there had been nothing she could do to stop it. Her protector had allowed himself to get killed before she escaped with her life and found her father who at first disregarded her existence before seeing the necklace that had once been her mother's.

Everything had been hers since she'd become the official leader of the League, honoring her father by finishing his work. _And honoring him by giving him new life._ Wearing a black sparkling shawl over a plain black dress of abundant elegance, her long dark hair pulled out of her face, Talia stood in one of the many chambers scattered about the Great Gold Pyramid deep in the heart of Ahm Shere. In this particular chamber, she stood before and gazed upon the large golden statue of a serpent-monster that looked more Asian dragon than Egyptian cobra, nevertheless roaring power and doom. She smiled sardonically. "It won't be long now, Father," she whispered, running her right hand bedecked in silver, the ring on her middle finger a pure inspiration of the waves of the Indian Ocean whilst the other beside it featured the stunning Ethipian opal surrounded by magnificent diamonds - her left hand bore gold on both ring and forefinger; the first bore the square lapis-lazuli sided with shining citrine and the other a true opal emerald-cut and flanked on both sides with three white diamonds - on the pure golden scales of the thing bearing the body of her father inside.

Ra's al Ghul's dying wish had been to be reborn as the great serpent, powerful than any of the animals Set was presented: the crocodile, pig, scorpion, and other dangerous and vile animals. His corpse, upon recovered, had been placed inside this statue and preserved until the day came; the blood of the phoenix - Jonathan Crane, the man who worked for him and failed him as a servant - mixed with the blood of the child's mother - her hated, estranged half-sister Rachel Dawes - would be poured in through the serpent's mouth and trail down into the system which Ra's al Ghul, the Demonhead, would rise again. She grinned as she turned at the sound of footsteps. "What news now, Hasina?" she asked that of her soothsayer.

"They draw closer, mistress," the woman answered. "They are within a day's journey here now. It won't be long until they reach the pyramid."

Talia grinned. "Good. Rally the men, bring the boy with them. I shall join to greet our guests when they arrive. They will never know what shall hit them."

~o~

They had been traveling for what felt like more than five days when it was actually five exact. Rachel thought that their luck was beginning to run out even though they came this far. _I'm tired as hell, feel like I'm pregnant again,_ she thought with a humorless laugh as she moved to remove her jacket as the heat pressure was getting to her skin. She felt Bruce's eyes on her as she bared her arms and the exposed top of her chest to him, wrapping the shirt around her waist and knotting it.

By nightfall, their luck had changed entirely.

"Oh, my God, there it is!" Jonathan exclaimed, pointing ahead, and everyone followed his gaze. Sinéad gasped, Anna smiled softly, and Bruce pursed his lips in a tight line. Rachel's heart thudded as she stared at the dark, lush sliver before them, happened to have popped out of nowhere before their sights. _The Oasis of Ahm Shere...or is it a mirage?_

She blinked again, hoping it would clear, but it was there as clear as she saw the people around her. The Oasis stood before her as any normal primordial jungle concealing whatever trickery and peril hidden in its vast formation. According to little known records, a part of the Blue Nile could be seen at the bottom, and filled with hazards such as quicksands, vast chasms, the usual you'd find in an African or South American jungle. With the exception of previously mentioned mummified pygmies which slaughtered those who dared venture into the Oasis.

The group galloped for it without a moment's hesitation just as the sun was beginning to set. The jungle was vast, and the Gold Pyramid rested in the heart of Ahm Shere; they would be able to spot it in the distance with help from the diamond that was rumored to rest at the very top, "winking" at distant travelers, beckoning them to their deaths. The enormous jewel itself was said to be priceless enough to be worth billions if brought back to America; it was held by a golden sculpture of a serpent beast. _Even Bruce could sell it to a charity benefit_.

Bruce had contact to Alfred via communications system so that the butler would come via aicraft known as a dirigible once again owned by Wayne Enterprises so that they would need his help. Alfred had taken off a few days before and would not be long now, hopefully. They were packed with as much weaponry as they were, settling somewhere in the jungle to prepare for fight. Anna, however, had more motives than just armory. Rachel saw her withdraw a page that looked old and worn and had come from a spellbook. "What's your plan?"

Her friend looked her square in the eyes. "Recall the previous individuals who dared venture here only to lose their lives to the pygmies hiding deep in this jungle. Their remains still lie, so I will call them to battle to protect you and when the Army of Set arises." Before anyone knew it, there was a flash of silver, and Anna now had a long gleaming sword thin as the blades of the French Revolution. "Because the only way to kill a Set warrior is by taking off its head. You need not fear for my safety because I have faith you will stop Ra's al Ghul and his followers."

Lightning then coursed the sky, followed by a crack of thunder, making everyone nearly jump out of their skins. As a little girl, Rachel was scared of the thunder and would often sneak into Bruce's bedroom for the night so they'd protect each other; as she grew older, it was a calming experience to keep away the demons of corruption for one night. Now it served as a terrible omen that the storm itself was coming. "Storm's coming," Bruce voiced her thoughts, making her laugh a little. She turned to see him strap a shotgun to his back. He still clung to his "no guns, no killing" rule; however things had to change since he wasn't Batman anymore.

Rachel chose the .45 Colt semi-automatic - low velocity yet full of high-stopping power. She saw that Anna chose the Thompson, larger than her own pistol and more reliable in its high volume of automatic firepower; Sinéad the FG-42, a fire battle rifle originally produced in Nazi Germany during the second World War, considered one of the most advanced weapon designs - and Jonathan the ranger gun. He apparently wasn't keen on long-range firearms like the possible girl of his dreams. For a guy who once was in league with the man whose rebirth awaited them and the entire world.

The sound of Anna's voice brought their attentions as soon as they were finished. She held up the yellowed page embossed with obvious Arabic symbols that she understood herself as the Hispanic read them aloud:فتح أبواب الماضي وتحرير النفوس _._ Her own Arabic was limited, but she'd seen enough films and read enough books on these things to know the obvious translation:

 _"Open the gates of the past and free the souls of the dead. Arise,_ arise, _ARISE!"_

This verse was repeated three times, going by the old saying "The third time's the charm", when the earth rumbled beneath them, and all around them began to change drastically and too grotesque for words. "Don't panic, just stay calm!" Anna shouted as they crowded close to each other as several random places of the earth began to rise like bubbles in water and then pop to show what they all grew up reading and watching in media: the undead soldiers of those who came before them. They were all rotted skeletons, no description needed, with earth and moss, clad in the dull armor of their regions, and armed.

"My very own army of the undead," Anna announced with a little smile. "Run now, get to the temple as fast as you can," she told them. "Save the boy and kill the creature, as the stories go."

 **"The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" was good if not the best as its two predecessors, but the part when Zi Yuan (the good witch who raised the souls of the damned by the cruel emperor's hand) was also one of the most memorable, and just as Anna Ramirez brought back the foreign armies who perished in the oasis. :) And what better way to arm the heroes than with epic armory of the times, just like the "Mummy" protagonists? Now we are getting to the BIG SHOWDOWN.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Maybe you need the warning, or maybe not, but there is a MAJOR character death.**

Chapter Eleven

While he was in the League of Shadows - not officially so - Jonathan underwent defense and self-defense training in weapons more than just his fear toxin. His weapon of choice, the ranger pistol, was long-range firepowered as much as the rifle version. However, one of the few things he remembered Ra's telling him was that the gun was quick to strike, but it could also deceive. Now wasn't the time, however.

He, the girl of his dreams, and the other two people he now considered his friends in these present circumstances, ran like the wind through the jungle without encountering any pygmy mummies; he automatically assumed the undead soldiers behind them raised by Anna would do the trick and protect their "mistress" if the little midget mummies tried to come near her. They had little Damien to rescue and an immortal dead man to kill. He laughed to himself. _Oh, the irony._

The jungle air was heavy with humid and causing their skins to sweat through the pores, only adding to their determination to get to the pyramid deep within the heart of this godforsaken place. The earth was soft beneath their feet, but that didn't mean it would make it easier for them to run; there was also quicksand to watch out for. Bats would sometimes fly past their heads, and Sinéad would scream and try batting them away with both her free hand and the one that held her gun. He noticed her long hair fly out behind her like a raven's wing, the sight so enchanting and so distracting that he nearly lost focus of where he was going and nearly stumbled over a tree trunk fallen over and onto Rachel.

"My God, look!" she yelled, pointing ahead.

 _The sun is rising,_ Jonathan thought as he followed her gaze. _Today is the day._ And it was rising over the horizon _fast_ , just a half-circle of gold outlined in pink and red amid smoky blue. The sun was coming into the sky for the final day...the beginning of the next apocalypse... _the beginning of the end._

"It's not the end of the line yet!" Bruce shouted as they crossed the vast fallen tree serving as a bridge, getting to the other side of the endless chasm beneath them; it was so deep that Jonathan's head spun and he nearly fell himself if Sinéad had not been there for him. "We're almost there!" And he was right, for in the distance, there it was: the Gold Pyramid, its peak popping out above the forestry of palms, "winking" as the story went. However, it was a dull golden brown instead of the pure gold it was supposed to be. _Ra's has not awakened yet, and neither is his army. They have to be alive in order for the temple to return to its former glory._ The path cleared and showed the pyramid more and more as the group neared the resting place of the man they did not want to bring about the apocalypse on this world, as well as where the son of two of the members was held as ransom and possibly the next heir to the kingdom of hell.

Eventually, by the time they entered the clearing - and the view of the Gold Pyramid in full glory at last - all four of them collapsed right before the steps of the entrance, exhausted and tired to their bones, lowering their weapons to their sides to catch their breaths. Jonathan's lungs were burning with holding his breath in desperation and speed, and he leaned his head backwards, touching a step.

A sudden weight caused him to look down and see that Sinéad was leaning her head on his chest, gasping for air with him. It amazed him how strong she was, everything they'd been through so far. She had been there for him when he opened up to her about his dark past and his secrets, she'd saved him from those scumbags at the bar he would no longer work at once - _if -_ they got out of Egypt alive. She was brilliant, fierce, and intelligent; she could have been anything she wanted, instead choosing a simple life as an artist and passionate about history, harboring a magical but dangerous secret like himself. And that kiss aboard the plane...Jonathan realized now that he was...in _love_ with Sinéad.

They remained there for what felt like an eternity, Jonathan uttering a laugh that sounded hollow to his own ears. How funny was it, realizing his feelings for her in an exotic but death-ridden location of all places, when the world was coming to an end? He may never have thought it would come to this, but he had never felt so much better in his life. But could he be certain that _she_ felt the same? He looked over to see Rachel in the position he was in, with Wayne leaning onto her this time; the sight he couldn't help but think befitting. _Had I know earlier what love truly was, would I have turned out differently? Would I have had it in me to be married with a family now, actually helping people at the asylum and being_ respected _?_

He never got the opportunity to find those answers before they heard the sound of rifles cocking, and a gruff voice he remembered all too well. "Alright, get up, all of you."

Jonathan jerked his head behind him, Sinéad following him, and Rachel and Bruce, all four of them getting up right away at the sight of the four men in black, and he recognized three of them being his violators; Sinéad hissed angrily and was beginning to fire at them before the one who had been the one she drew the dagger on laughed and pointed his gun at her.

"Don't even think about it this time, sweet cheeks." Jonathan's blood boiled at the name insulting her; how dare he?! "The lady wants all of you in and unharmed." He grinned maliciously as he and his companions took their weapons and pointed them at all four of them, forcing them forward and into the place of their doom.

~o~

According to legend, the Gold Pyramid was estimated to be about four hundred and seventy feet tall unlike some others which could be up to four hundred and fifty to four hundred and eighty over time. It was built with blocks of gold and made to function more as a vast, elaborate temple than simply a tomb as other pyramids were. Within this place was a maze of corridors, rooms, and passageways; if Bruce were a child again, he should feel like he was on an exhibit with all the giddiness of a young child checking out the cool artifacts on a class trip or with his parents, but no. Not with two guns pointed at him, same with his friends and the woman he pined for and wanted to marry...if it weren't for the horrid knowledge that her life would end today, and they both knew it as much as neither wanted to. _I lost her once, I can't lose her again._

The corridors were as any other in any Egyptian pyramid. Sandstone and plastered with dust and centuries of unuse that somehow managed to remain in good shape despite lack of care; statues of guards and pharaohs from long ago still stood, with many hieroglyphs and pictures of the gods and goddesses shown obviously. Nobody uttered a word or even a sound as they were led down the corridors and up a few flights of stairs where more exquisite carvings and symbols were shown on either side of them, until Bruce and his companions were forced through an opened doorway where a woman in black stood, her back facing them even as they were brought in to stand before her.

Bruce quickly looked at their new surroundings; the various rectangular pillars supporting the ceiling were covered entirely in figures of the past and more symbols, providing more space for walking about than actually needed, but the Egyptians believed in supporting the departed monarch into the next afterlife, except Imhotep himself had been a fanatic and powerful than most. He wouldn't be surprised if the man was wealthier than the pharaoh of his time, Seti I. It would be dull if this place had no sacred treasury bestowed somewhere, not that any of it mattered now.

"So happy you could come, Bruce. And your friends." The woman turned around to show a face of twisted yet sensual beauty he would have found attractive if it weren't for the obvious fact that she was bad news. Her long dark hair was in a braid behind her back, her eyes blue as the cloudless skies and shining maliciously with ambition and power, her full lips twisted into a smile as she took in the small group. She began to walk their way, her steps slow and deliberate, stopping in front of him first. On her sun-kissed skin, he smelled pink grapefruit, vanilla, honeysuckle, and plum he would have found captivating if not for who its wearer was. _What the hell am I thinking?_ he thought angrily. _It's like she has me under a dirty "love spell" or something._

"I can see why my father picked you as his pupil of all people," the woman continued, leaning closer so she could look at his face more closely, still smiling which soon faded into an expressionless mask. "Strong, dashing, like a true knight in shining armor," she purred, her face inches away from kissing him before she drew back, disgusted that she'd even done that. Bruce was himself, glad he wouldn't have that opportunity to be kissed by this woman, who had revealed herself to be Ra's al Ghul's daughter, which had to make her... _Rachel's half-sister._ Then she laughed as though forgetting her manners, shaking her head. "Oh, my, where are my manners? I am Talia, the daughter of Ra's al Ghul as I gave away. Which makes you and I..." she added when her attention shifted to Rachel, who squirmed mildly and jerked her arm free from her subduer.

"Half-sisters," Rachel responded, glaring at her. "Glad I never knew you because I know you're bad road, as my mother used to say."

Talia snarled at her. "Your mother, a _whore_. My father was married to the mother who bore me, whom he was torn from and she was forced to take his place in a prison farther from here." Bruce was furious that she would dare call the late Lena Dawes a whore and make her daughter make way for her before being grabbed by the same man. "They were in a love frowned upon by her father, a warlord, until he found out their secret marriage and exiled my father. I was inside my mother's womb when she was sent underground, grew up in hell on Earth until Mother was killed, and I escaped to find my father. To know he was off with another woman he had another daughter whose existence he knew made me sick." Her face twisted before it dissolved into an insolent smirk. "But to also know he wasn't in her life while she grew was exhilarating."

"Bitch!" Rachel shouted as she tried one last time to fight off her captor and failed, making Talia laugh again. She moved away from Bruce, past her estranged and hated half-sister and stood before Jonathan, who remained stone-faced as Bruce remembered him from his days as director of Arkham.

"Jonathan Crane." She said his name as though it were a heavy drink that was too strong for her. "The man who failed my father...but who could still prove more useful than he'd be otherwise," she said with a smile to the right corner of her mouth that Bruce saw from the side of her face, which soon turned all the way so he saw the back of her head and her braid to where Sinéad stood with her lips in a tight line as she, too, glared at the wicked woman. "Ah, the holder herself. Search her, gentlemen, for the very tool we need."

Sinéad spat out a series of Gaelic curse words as the man behind her held her as Bruce's captor let him go to walk over there and begin to search her, patting down all her torso - including the parts best left for a man who cared about her, and it got his defensive side up and running, wanting to go over and punch the hell out of the man - until finally he reached down to her left boot; she tried to kick him when he grabbed her leg in a way that made her cry out, and he growled at her to stop or he'd tear her leg off.

Soon the Blade of Life itself was out and away from its sacred guardian, in filthy hands it shouldn't be. The silver blade gleamed in the golden lights around, clearly flashing in the eyes of Talia al Ghul herself. "Ah, _yes_ ," she hissed in delight as she took it by the handle. "Magnificent." She held it up to her eyes as though it were a prized trophy she'd just won, admiring it for a few more seconds before returning her focus back to Jonathan. "Now onto the start of the important part. Hasina, the goblet, please."

A woman in white priestess robes stepped forward. A black band was over her eyes, and Bruce assumed she was blind but she could still see things more than anyone knew. She obeyed without question, handing her mistress a goblet of gold encrusted with rainbow gemstones and bowing her head once before backing away. Then Talia shifted her whole body to Jonathan and reached to rip open the front of his shirt, exposing his chest completely. Bruce couldn't believe she did that and in front of the girl he knew cared about him. Sinéad gasped at what the witch did next:

Jonathan's screams were louder than the cries of the damned of the underworld and Tartarus as the point of the knife slashed his unmarked skin, starting at the middle between where visible pectorals were supposed to be, then moving down south and stopping above his belly button, cutting deep enough to cause a bloodflow fast enough to drip down into the cup that she held to receive the blood of eternal life for her father's remains somewhere in this unholy place. The man's breathing became labored as he struggled to keep his pain under control and failed. Sinéad cursed at Talia, threatening to kill her for that, but the latter only laughed and shook her head, walking away from a bleeding Jonathan and back to where Bruce stood with Rachel beside him.

"That leads us to one last thing..." she started. "But before I do, Lee, go get the boy and bring him in here," she called over her shoulder to the man who had "searched" Sinéad, who nodded and left for outside the chamber.

Bruce couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- let her take away the woman he loved, the mother of _his child,_ whom he would see again soon enough, but also knew Damien would witness the loss of his mother who had raised him before the whole family reunited. He moved for Talia only for her to strike him hard across the face and send him backwards. It was as if a force knocked the wind out of his body. Bruce sailed backwards in the air and crashed into one of the pillars behind him, his body numbing in mild pain coupled with the uselessness of his back from lack of exercise while confided in Wayne Manor for nearly five years.

Rachel's cry of pain brought his head back up; through his half-blurred vision, he saw that Talia, her jealous half-sister, had done what he had tried to prevent. _The blade in her..._ "NOOOO!" he roared, jumping up and running for her, only to once more be thrown back by an invisible force when Talia threw out her right hand that didn't hold the blade. He didn't hit the pillar again, just slid along the sandy ground, remained there until he heard the woman bark orders to leave the boy with his family and their friends, just like that.

"Your lady is dying, Bruce," Talia called over her shoulder as she was the last one out the door. "Choose between following us and leaving her to pass away alone." And then she was gone, leaving them the way they were.

~o~

"Rachel! Rachel!" Bruce ran over to his lover's side. Rachel lay on her back, clutching her stomach, bleeding deep red that it stained her tank top, her breathing sharp gasps as she allowed herself to be taken into his strong arms.

"Mommy!" All heads turned in horror at the sight of the little boy they'd come all this way for, standing there as he watched his mother bleed to death in his father's arms. He ran over to them only to be stopped by Sinéad, who found it in her to support a healing-by-himself Jonathan, miraculously so. He squirmed in her arms despite her best attempts to keep him away as much as it hurt her. "She's gonna be fine, is she, Daddy?" Damien asked nervously.

Bruce nodded. "Just stay away," he ordered gently, and the boy stopped struggling in her arms. She held him close to her, feeling helpless herself. It was like the day Gran lay dying in her bed all those years ago, losing someone she cared about so much. Seeing the mother of this sweet little child slowly die broke her heart into a thousand smithereens. Rachel was a very good friend to her, so to lose her even though it was anticipated was opening another wound inside her. Bruce looked down at her pain struck face, pushing hair out of her face. "You're real strong, Rachel," he promised. "You're going to make it."

His voice shook and booked little room for actually keeping that promise. Even Rachel knew it, for she was nodding weakly. "Take care of Damien," she whispered, shakily raising a hand to touch the side of his face.

"No, sweetheart, no...I lost you once, I can't lose you again."

Sinéad felt a tear roll down her cheek at the words, even more when Rachel uttered her final words to him in that same breathless whisper. "I love you." And then she said no more, her eyes closing for one final time, her head lolling back onto his arm. Bruce broke down then, the almighty Bruce Wayne Sinéad had grown to know over the last week or so, collapsing into a storm of tears he was unable to control over the loss of the woman he loved.

"No, Rachel...come back...come back..." He repeated the words over and over as he laid the body down onto the ground, leaning over and holding onto her as he grieved.

Damien began to cry himself, leaning into Sinéad and bawling into her arms over the loss of his mother. She felt like crying herself as she held him, his warmth and innocence lighting something in her that made her realize she wanted to one day get married and have a little one like this one, but now wasn't the time to think about it. She rested her chin atop his soft dark head, looking at the heartwrenching image before her, feeling Jonathan's arms wrap around her to comfort her and the boy the best he could.

A fiery rage consumed her then. _Talia al Ghul, you'll pay for this. I know you will. You may have won this round, but the fight is far from over._

 **I remember the first time I saw the leading lady being stabbed to death in the movie, and even though I don't cry anymore, it still hurts to this very day. Obviously enough, this isn't the end of it. Two more chapters to go, and it's a promise. :D I have to say I had as much fun with this story like the others before it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Only two words to say: epic battle. :D**

 **Rachel's heartbreaking death has broken Bruce more than before because it happened for sure this time, but we are FAR from over. Anyone who has seen "The Mummy Returns" must have the idea. That's as far as I am going to avoid spoilers. Just know that Bruce's rage is beyond the way Batman had his, as he is not Batman anymore - so he might be willing to go a little further while staying in character.**

Chapter Twelve

At last. At long last, the time was upon them. Talia grinned triumphantly as she marched without hesitation back into the chamber where her father's statue rested, waiting for the blood of life to enter his mouth. _The blood of the failure of a man, and that of the woman I will never call a sister._ The red glimmered dark and rich in the gold in her hands.

She stood before the serpent statue, in all its regal form and power etched in stone unlike many things in life that weren't set in stone. Ra's al Ghul had been a powerful human being in life, and he would be even more now. The mouth of the gigantic golden creature was wide open for her to pour the goblet's contents down and into the passageway that led to the preserved corpse of the Demonhead.

She wasn't sure how much time elapsed before a great force zoomed from the statue and shook her body, suctioning like a great wind past her, and the whole room was soon filled with an even brighter lighting of gold than before. She grinned again as the Gold Temple returned to life in its former glory.

~o~

The earth rumbled beneath their feet of the desert Anna now stood with the army she'd raised from the Book of the Dead left by her mother before she died. She stood before them as their unofficially appointed leader, her sword given to her by the dead man which had once been general of the Roman army in Caesar's time, now joined unlikely but appropriate for this present day against the one that would soon arise. The one they all feared for thousands of years.

Anna gritted her teeth as she witnessed it all with her "men". The sands of time had poured out, and a darkness was covering the golden sands of the Sacred Desert, spreading faster than any clouds of an impending storm. _Symbolic and also perfect enough,_ she thought sarcastically as she gripped the reins of her horse; the skeleton soldiers rode on their own horses long since decayed as well to bones and dust. "So it begins," she murmured in Spanish, half to herself. _Bruce, Rachel, everyone...please hurry._

~o~

 _What has just happened?_ Jonathan wondered even though he knew the answer. The impact was like that of an earthquake shaking the earth, and before the whole pyramid had been a dull golden brown; now it was pure, almost blinding gold. He almost collapsed to the ground along with everyone else; Sinéad and little Damien held onto each other for support while Bruce fell atop the corpse of his lover and the mother of his son. Looking over at them, Jonathan felt a pang of grief he had never felt before.

 _We have an unforgettable and unpleasant history, and I will never forgive or forget what she did to take away my life, but...she didn't deserve to die this way. The boy needs his mother, and I never knew mine. I wouldn't know what it was like, but I know she deserved to live as a whole family._

He saw Bruce stand and rise, dusting off his all-black uniform with a look of sole angry determination that he now knew he'd seen somewhere before. "I'm going to stop them," he said in a lower voice, gruff that was all too distinguished, making Jonathan remain where he was in pure and utter shock.

 _Batman...he is the Batman..._ was _the Batman,_ he corrected himself, watching the billionaire vanish out the door, his whole body shaking visibly that Sinéad and Damien noticed and went over to him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He couldn't tell her, not now. Not with the boy there, for he was too young to understand and would go around telling people and jeopardize his family. "Just the shock of the impact," he lied. She nodded, scrutinizing him, telling him that she didn't believe him. Damien, however, ignored him and instead went to kneel beside his mother's body, his cries audible and Jonathan would have called annoying if it weren't for the sympathy he began to develop for the child. He walked over and knelt beside him, patting the small back, a warm electrical surge coursing through his body afterwards. It was a warmth he never felt before in his life. _Not like the one Sinéad gives me; no, this is something else I can't quite place._

He wasn't sure how to console the boy without hurting his feelings more than they already were, and without invoking Sinéad's wrath. "I'm so sorry, Damien, but think of it this way. She's gone to a better place." The barriers between myth and real life were broken anyway, so there had to be a point of some afterlife. "Like my grandmother used to say, and like it says in the good book..."

Damien's head perked up then and looked straight at him, his brown eyes wide. "The book! That's it! The Book of the Dead!"

"He is precisely one bright little child, and I'm willing to help."

All heads turned to the doorway where the woman in white priestess robes stood, in both her hands said book, the black cover resembling river rock carved with Egyptian hieroglyphs. _Unbelievable, but it has to be done._ However, Jonathan's rational side kicked in that he demanded with Sinéad, "Who are you?"

She cracked a small smile; her eyes were covered by a black band to indicate that she was blind. "Hasina, high priestess of Mistress al Ghul. She will have my head for this, but I hold morals that the woman did not deserve the end she got. She deserves another chance that was wrongfully taken from her. Once she returns, all of you must join your friend against the fallen rearisen."

~o~

The gong could be heard banging from the distance. Bruce gripped the weapon he found along the way in both hands - a golden sword taken from the statue of a warrior from long ago - anger and fire coursing his blood and flowing through his heart and his whole body. _This is for Rachel...and this is for the whole world._

The darkened end of the hallway ended with a burst of gold and all things rich and old - everything from the roaring fires and illumination of the treasures scattered about. _Treasures from the ancient world._ Bruce's skin was beginning to sweat, not that he cared; it was a release of the pain his heart was feeling through his body. Four years of living without Rachel, thinking she was dead only for her to reemerge and break the news about a son, their hopes of starting over as a family dying along with her only minutes ago. It would be just him, Damien and Alfred from then on, until however long the old man would live.

Bruce knew he had to focus on his mission and shoved all thoughts to the back of his brain. He crouched behind a large bonfire container as soon as the view of the woman who murdered his lover came into view; Talia was mustering all her strength as she swung the drumstick and rang the gigantic golden disc called a gong, the sound echoing throughout the whole temple in an effort to summon her father, wherever he was. Bruce had been hoping he would never see Ra's al Ghul again, but he swore from this day forward it would be the last time.

He noticed a chasmic space between him and Talia, and it opened to reveal thousands of figures clamoring for someone to come in; their shapes were human, but they couldn't be _living_ human beings. Outlines were red over brown, faceless things too violent and eager for humanistic characteristics, and the sliver between them was red bordering on yellow... _the underworld._ The entrance to the underworld stood between him and this beautiful woman too cruel to be considered any man's dream. But this obstacle didn't stop Bruce from unleashing a shout and all his limited strength he would gladly risk for his sweet Rachel and avenge her death. He still clung to his morals that justice and revenge were two separate things, but the times have changed.

An inhuman bellow suddenly shook the whole room by the time his feet touched the floor less than a foot away from the chasm in the earth he had crossed. It made the daughter stumble herself, but as soon as she regained herself, she saw him standing distances away and smiled. "So, you chose to leave the wife to die, didn't you?" she taunted.

"Would have _been_ my wife," Bruce returned, more than ready to murder her and break his one rule.

"Sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good, as my father always used to say." She abandoned the gong and began to make way towards him, walking around a fallen statue. "Rachel was a necessary sacrifice; she had to give up what was most precious to her for the good of the cause."

"I LOVED HER!" Bruce roared angrily, losing his temper. "But what would you know about love when you never experienced it?!"

 _"She can learn to give it to you, Bruce. Join us and end this conflict today."_

 _That voice..._ Bruce thought with horror as he heard the sound of the main double grand doors of the chamber open slowly with loud creaks, getting his attention and Talia's. He didn't miss her triumphant smirk, chose to ignore it and held his weapon on him as the doors opened to show a gigantic serpent figure in the darkness, outlined by the lighting in the background only, until it slithered into the chamber to show all of its horrifying glory.

The thing estimated to be about sixty feet long, rust-colored with shimmering black scales in places that were there and not there, depending on the light reflection, the spikes of the back as golden as the head in which the mouth opened to show a long, narrow red tongue and two long white fangs, gleaming brighter than any sword blade in the world. The spikes of the back of the head served as more of a "crown"; the eyes gleamed vivid ruby red with a narrow black slit of a pupil. _Ra's al Ghul._ But not in human form.

The face was too snakelike to form a human smile, but Bruce could hear it in its voice, bearing the slither of a common serpent mingled with the voice he remembered but haven't heard since the monorail crash. _"Did you not think I would return, Bruce? I told you I was immortal. Many forms of immortality, at that."_

Bruce backed away, crouching low to nearly match tiger-stance. "I won't join you, Ra's. I said no that night and now is no exception. I stopped you that night, and I'll do it now. For Rachel and the whole world."

The snake laughed, the sound rattling like a cobra's tail. _"You will never learn, will you? You fought your decadence for Gotham for years, and now you will learn it's all beyond saving. If this is your choice, then meet your end like your lover."_

"Your own daughter," Bruce spat, quickly taking notice of how the long tail whipped out and made way for him. However, he didn't dodge it fast enough to be knocked into the abdomen, the force knocking the oxygen out of his body and sending him back and into the air. He slid along the smooth stone floor, still clutching the sword in his hand. If Ra's al Ghul wanted to fight again to the death, he would get it.

 **And they say family is messy business; truer words have never been spoken: "Nothing is thicker than blood." I also love the Animated Series version of Ra's and Talia that I couldn't resist bringing that in.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I have been forgetting to tell everyone that I changed the undead Egyptian army from Anubis (movie version) to Set because of the fact that Set himself was a greedy being in real life; in one story, he sought the fertile upper Egypt and killed his brother Osiris for it, before he was defeated and sent back to barren lower Egypt where he belonged.**

 **It's official: this is the last chapter, so enjoy. :D**

Chapter Thirteen

Bruce regained himself after being thrown to the floor; damn, that hurt, without the armor present. He didn't know why he thought like this; he never used to care about these things, and with his injured leg from the fall that killed Harvey Dent...

That spiked tail was returning, and he quickly stood and jumped out of the way in time for it to knock over a bonfire that crashed in Talia's way, making her jump away. He wondered, as he continued to dodge attacks from snake-Ra's, how on earth such a woman could be the heir and current leader of the League of Shadows. _She puts on the shell of a strong female, but in truth she hides to get out of the way._

Ra's hissed and roared as he surged his body, coiling around pillars as he tried to come after Bruce. He was hellbent on killing him for real this time; Bruce could tell by the blazing red eyes. He felt like one of the Jedi - he hadn't seen _Star Wars_ in years, with Rachel when they were younger - as he found higher ground and climbed a fallen, crumbled pillar, jumping into the air and pouncing on the coiling of the serpent's body, bringing down the sword into the tough scales, eventually piercing through. Ra's threw his head back and roared in pain, unravelling his coils and lashing out, sending Bruce into the air once more...

...only to find his whole body engulfed and nearly suffocating in the end of the tail.

He squirmed and tried to break free, noticing his weapon lying innocently and abandoned on the floor only to be picked up by Talia, holding it up with an insolent smile, a silent gesture telling him that he'd lost this round. Bruce was then jerked forward close enough to meet the snake's face, staring deep into the sinister red orbs.

~o~

Being in an epic battle looks easy in the movies and in the stories, but for real is a whole different story. Real lives are lost for real, and there is sadness included within the victory.

Anna could see that they were near victory; less than half of their own were fallen, but they were nearing the end of the whole Army of Set. Set himself was associated with the pig, crocodile, snake, and other things deadly, so these creatures had the muscled bodies of men in the loincloths and dusted old warrior jewels, however with the exception of their heads, which were that of the creature Set himself was portrayed as: curved snout and long rectangular ears, known simply as the _Set animal;_ it was not a known animal, but a mix of the jackal, aardvark, donkey, maybe the fennec fox. Either way, it wasn't pleasant.

Anna Ramirez had never been in an actual war battle, because her experience in Gordon's unit never fully landed her into actual combat, with the exception of the uses of a pistol and firearm. Her body was getting drained of energy, but she would not give up now. Not when the last Set warrior was coming her way with the gracefully curved sword ready to chop her off in a split second.

She brought her sword up as soon as said warrior - the leader of the army - neared her and was about to bring its weapon down on her...and its head was off like its fallen comrades, the whole body and the severed head collapsing to the ground and becoming one with the rest of the desert.

Cheers abruptly broke out into the air as the dead men rejoiced the defeat of the Army of Set, and Anna couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, smiling afterwards.

However, the fight was far from over, and Ra's al Ghul still had to be defeated. She could see Bruce engaging the Serpent King himself, and sent a message through the air, begging him to kill him soon.

~o~

The coils of the snake-form of the man who had been his onetime mentor turned enemy had him in a vicelike death grip, nearly suffocating him to death. Bruce tried his hardest to hold himself together and remain conscious, but Ra's' words were nearly fading from his ears.

 _"You may have defeated me then, Bruce, but you won't win this time,"_ he hissed in Bruce's ear, his gigantic snout and mouth nearing his face, hot breath setting his flesh on fire. _"You'll never have it in you the courage to do what is necessary. When I am finished with you, your son is the heir to my new kingdom on this earth once balance is restored, as you never gave me the chance to finish."_

 _Using your grandson_ \- my _son_ \- _for your demented vision!_ Bruce wanted to choke out, only to feel the pressure get tighter and tighter, until a voice snapped him out of it, as well as the attentions of both snake-Ra's and Talia: "BRUCE!"

He blinked twice, wondering if he was just imagining things. But no, _she was there._ "Rachel?!" he managed. But _how_? _She was dead...she was dead..._

He felt himself being released and thrown to the side, hitting the ground once more - what was with him getting thrown around a lot today? He must be getting old now - and saw the serpent slowly advance towards her, in no rush to kill her, but he was going to. _"You're dead."_ The disbelief was evident in his voice as he saw that the daughter which had been sacrificed for his rebirth was alive again.

"The Book of the Dead," Rachel answered. "Father." Jonathan, Sinéad and Damien were right behind her when she spoke.

Ra's sounded bemused. _"So, you know."_

"I know everything," she answered. "And it ends here."

 _"For you and your friends, maybe,"_ Ra's slithered.

"Bruce, catch!" Jonathan, with such speed that amazed him despite the slender man's build, raised his arm and threw out at him the Blade of Life. He didn't know _how_ he'd acquired it, not that it mattered at the present. Bruce saw this as his opportunity to leap through the air with the last of his speed, grabbing it and evading another lash of the tail, prepared to kill him, only to be lashed out at again by the tail, this time being struck backwards...and heading straight for the chasm which he had crossed to get to Talia and the gong earlier.

"NOOOO!" Rachel screamed as she began to run for him, only for Talia to restrain her with a gleeful smile; Ra's was moving in for the kill, and Bruce had the weapon in his hands, more than ready for what came next.

As soon as his footing caught the edge of the pit that led to beneath the earth, snake-Ra's leaned in only to get himself impaled deep in the tender, unscaly front side of his body. He howled in pain; the blow wasn't fatal, but it sure hurt like hell.

Talia came to her father's side, screaming the Arabic word for "no" in despair, collapsing to her knees beside him and looked on for the rest of the time, knowing there was nothing more she could do for him. And being in the League for some years taught Bruce another thing: failure is unacceptable, and you either die a hero or live long enough to be the villain and outcast. She'd be returning to her followers a failure, and being a woman, she would no longer be looked up to by them.

Bruce looked up into the pain-filled red eyes, seeing the life slowly leave them. "Go to hell, and take your friends with you!" he roared before pushing the sword all the way to the hilt, and that final blow forced another inhuman bellow from the Serpent King, and his whole body blew up into black smoke that filled the entire room.

~o~

When Rachel felt her body return back from the other side, she thought she was having an out-of-body experience, but it was also wonderful to wake up and see her son and two of her friends over her. To know that Talia's priestess had backstabbed her into bringing her back from the dead was surprising enough. Now she was standing in the doorway to the battle chamber in which she had just witnessed her lover against her father for one final time.

 _He did it,_ she thought as she gripped the side of the doorway as their surroundings began to rumble and shake, very much like an earthquake cracking the earth and taking homes and other structures down with it. _And take us with it._

The black smoke within the room had cleared and resulted in the explosion of the temple that had not yet fallen but would in a matter of time. But there was still Bruce to rescue. He was on the edge of the great crack in the floor that showed the lost souls of the underworld which were so hungry for taking him down with them. And Talia was right beside him; no surprise there because she'd done so much wrong she didn't deserve another chance. This wasn't revenge, either. It was justice.

Bruce's voice snapped her back his way. "Rachel, no! Get out of here! Just get out of here!"

She shook her head furiously. She didn't come back from the dead to lose him herself. No, she transformed into a wildcat and dashed through the falling debris just to come to his rescue, and when she finally succeeded, Rachel grabbed his hand and pulled him forward; he hauled himself up the rest of the way. Once they were safely away from the hell he would have unwillingly fallen into, they looked down to where the evil woman herself was still holding on for dear life, leering at them. "You don't need a hand, do you?" Rachel found it in herself to taunt her as she had to them, receiving a baring of the teeth.

"You honestly think I would return to my people a failure? My father's resurrection has been in vain, and all his work has been for nothing. I have no reason to go on living as a joke to my followers." And with that, she let go of the edge and vanished deep into the red cavern which was hell.

"Come on, let's get out of here!" Jonathan yelled over to them, Sinéad grabbing Damien and hoisting him up into her arms with all her limited strength due to her body build, turning and already running out, Jonathan following her, stopping only to make sure Rachel and Bruce caught up.

However, once they ran down the halls and took up a vast flight of stairs as fast as the group could travel, they discovered not only was the pyramid about to collapse and returning to its original sandy form, all of the green Oasis outside was being sucked into the heart from whence it came before Imhotep's existence. _We're going to be sucked in!_ Rachel thought in horror as she continued the journey up with her lover, their son and friends, until they reached the very top of the pyramid where the mentioned golden statue with the great diamond was, shining brightly in the sky. That, too, would soon perish with this place and be no more.

"Bruce, we're trapped!" Rachel yelled over the great gushes of wind. She held onto him, Damien in between them, prepared to die with them as a family; from the corner of her eye, she saw Sinéad cling to Jonathan, happy to go with him than being alone, and he the same. At least he would die a happy man with her.

Suddenly, a great shadow loomed over the group, and their worries of death died right away, but it would return soon enough if they weren't on board the dirigible that came right on time. "Alfred!" Bruce yelled over the thick air.

~o~

 _Finally, Alfred to the rescue,_ Bruce thought happily as his son hopped into his arms for him to get on first at Alfred's constant "Hurry up, I haven't got all day! I haven't come all this way to wait to get yourselves on this!"

Bruce got Rachel on not long after, followed by Sinéad and Jonathan - who now had the diamond in his arms that he tossed on board first before himself, and Bruce shook his head as he climbed in after them, so Alfred started the engine and took them off just as the last of the pyramid vanished into the suctioned greenery, ultimately folding deep into the golden sands of the desert so that it would be all that remained.

The hot-air dirigible flew away into the distance just as what used to be the Gold Pyramid _and_ the Oasis of Ahm Shere blew up like a volcanic eruption, or maybe a space supernova. Either way, they had cleared the end of the Sacred Desert's mythical tomb where the fight for the fate of the Earth had taken place.

Bruce collapsed to the floor in exhaustion, right beside Jonathan who still held the diamond. Never too early to say he could donate it to the museum, since that had to be what the former psychiatrist had in mind. He managed to look up and see Alfred at the engine and controls, glaring down at him with the attempt of a smile. "Master Wayne, you could have had your old man killed!"

Bruce laughed. "Yeah, well, at least you didn't suffer a heart attack along the way."

The butler laughed, too, slapping the wheel playfully. "So, tell me, what have all of you been up to this time?"

Bruce winced, managing to pull himself up to join him. "Oh, you know, the usual. Ritualistic sacrifices, pygmies...giant snakes."

"Oh, Alfred, thank you!" Rachel went up and wrapped her arms around the old man's neck and kissed his cheek, making him chuckle. Damien pounced forward to be received with opened arms, too. While the family took time to reunite, Bruce turned towards Jonathan and Sinéad, seeing them walk up to him; the girl smiled at him and hugged him. He found it in him to vocally thank her for everything. Pulling back, she looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

"For what?"

"For bringing my family back together," he answered. "And for helping me with all of this." Then his mind darted back to the sacred blade and realized he'd lost it. "Unfortunately, the sword..."

"Oh, no." She shook her head and laughed. "My grandmother said once its task was finished, it would return to its rightful place. It's no problem, Bruce."

Jonathan ignored him then, and Bruce wondered what his problem was, before it dawned on him that he _knew he was the Batman._ Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised; he knew the man's brilliant mind would pick up sooner or later. He was distracted by Rachel beside him, and both of them looked down below where a figure sat on a certain brown-spotted cream horse, saluting them and smiling. "Looks like Anna knows her work is done here," Rachel murmured, placing her hand on his arm. "She's done with Gotham and will move on elsewhere."

He saluted the Hispanic back just in time as the balloon began to take off and take them back home to Gotham where they could all live in peace. Bruce smiled as he turned his attention back to the beautiful face framed by short, bouncing brown curls once long and flowy, a face he'd thought he would forever lose for sure back there. Now she was back with him, forever. Before it had been impossible to be with her, and now the hard parts were over. "I thought I almost lost you back there," he whispered, ignoring the eyes of the others behind them.

"Just for a moment, and not four years this time," she answered. "Do you want to know what heaven looks like?"

Bruce laughed and shook his head. "Later." With that, he leaned down and captured Rachel's sweet lips with his own, earning groans of "Oh, please" from their son and the others.

~o~

 _Dear Rachel and Bruce,_

 _I'm so sorry we couldn't stay any longer to attend your wedding on this day, but Jonathan cannot bear to live in Gotham anymore, and my task has been finished that I feel I should return to Ireland and take him with me. We are going to start over fresh as you should do the same with Damien, be the family you deserve to be. I do not know yet what is in store for Jonathan and I here in the country of my birth, but it is peaceful as I remember it, lush and green, carefree and undisturbed. This is a perfect place to start a family someday and continue my line of work, and to help Jonathan get back on track. A job at a bar is clearly not his cup of tea, as you already knew. However, if the time ever comes, we will return to Gotham for a visit, and you'll find us happier than ever as we find you and your family so. As the Irish saying goes, "May the roads rise up to meet you, and good night and joy be to you all."_

 _Sinéad_

Rachel gave a small, sad smile as she reread the note that had been given to her just yesterday afternoon. This was the third time reading it; earlier had been before the wedding ceremony just as she'd been admiring herself with her bridesmaids in gold sparkles. Rachel never took herself for luxury despite growing up in Wayne Manor with Bruce, but that had been exactly how she'd always envisioned herself on her wedding day. The gown was a luxurious A-line with a trailing cathedral train, various fabrics together from tulle with exquisite lace over satin, the whole bodice and some of the lace details beaded with blinding crystals. Her hair was in a sleek but mildly loose style with a diamond-and-pearl, almost Arabic hairpiece attached with a tulle, single-layered veil sewn with a floral lace similar to her dress. She enjoyed being treated like a queen for the day since it hadn't been her lifestyle before, and to walk down the ceremony aisle, surrounded by the classic gold and ivory fantasy that went on into the reception room set up in the grand ballroom, until she met up with Bruce and took their vows as husband and wife, the sapphire band now on her finger marking her as Mrs. Bruce Wayne now.

Now she was in her second dress, simpler than the first but still elegant. It was rich, soft-shimmering white satin in a relaxed mermaid silhouette, reminiscence of red carpet limelight; the bodice was ruched all the way to the skirt with a sweetheart neckline, the skirt hem bubbled, and a Swarovski crystal motif to the left side.

The door to the dressing room was knocked on, and none other than her husband and son were let in. Bruce, handsome as ever and the million-watt smile in place, and Damien gasping and simply stating, "Mommy, you're pretty!" before running over to her and hugging her around the skirt, making her laugh. Looking up, she saw a square-shaped black box without a lid to show her what Bruce had gotten her.

"God, Bruce, you shouldn't have..." she tried to say.

"Richard Burton showered his Queen of Hollywood with this, so now it's from me to you," he stated simply, taking it out and draping it around her neck. Turning around to look at herself in the mirror, she saw a woman devoid of the wedding hairpiece so her short bob was free, her dress symbolic of a now-married woman, and the extra-spectacular necklace around her neck and above the valley between her breasts.

It was the world-famous Taylor-Burton diamond; however, that one had been sixty-nine carats while this one estimated to be about fifty. It was still pear-shaped like the original, sparkling with true beauty that you don't see anymore. This was her life now, the life she'd always dreamed of: being married to Bruce, having his babies and being the lady of the house. This was the fairytale she'd always wanted, and to hell with those who said that type of love didn't exist. Yes, love was complicated, but if you fought hard, the end results are always worth it, and Rachel Wayne knew that as she shared a quick kiss with her husband and joined him and their son in the ballroom with their guests, sharing a silent sadness that two most important people couldn't make it.

~o~

 _It's finished,_ Sinéad thought happily as she beheld the sight of her latest masterpiece that had taken weeks to prepare, mostly due to brainstorming and the growing love between her and Jonathan that she knew today she would never regret. He was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, so today she'd finished it right after their brief ceremony out on the cliff where their home was located, overlooking the sea near where she'd been born.

Sinéad had incorporated her blood into this dress she was still in, and her wild-flying ebony hair. She wore a simple but still sexy glowing white dress inspired by the Dark Age, the neckline between square and round, intricately embroidered there and around the natural waistline, and the sleeves stopping at her elbows while behind, still going long and past. Her hair was set beautifully with a smooth, scrolling moonlight silver crown draping on both sides with clear crystals and pearls. She didn't go anywhere without her beloved Wild Irish Rose charm around her neck, so there it was above her heart.

And now for the ring, which Jonathan had gladly spent nearly his last just for her. The ring was meticulous and contemporary yet timeless with the Trinity knots. She had not gotten paint on it or her dress as she finished it on a blue day with silvery clouds not even close to rain. The dark-haired couple in this black, fiery-set canvas were both nude, sexually so with certain parts showing for both of them, below them being more fire and displaying the phoenix and the mermaid together despite their different elements - the woman's left breast was seen from the side as she wrapped both her arms around her partner's neck, and his strong arm around her hip, nearly touching a certain region that wasn't her hip; their eyes were closed and their expressions were of pure, blazing desire as they molded into one in a certain way she and Jonathan would do soon enough. She was extremely nervous.

Sinéad thought she knew what consummation was, choosing to go by instinct instead of reading it up because Rachel had once made it clear that reading never prepared you for the best. "A book is the worst thing that can happen to you when it comes to intercourse." Jonathan had never been through it in this sense which they were heading; his had been only empty and in need of money to keep himself alive. It had taken them weeks to finally get him to kick that habit, and he'd wanted to get physical with her, but she had kept herself pure for marriage all this time because of the long-held belief of no premarital sex.

The familiar warmth of Jonathan's body against hers made her shudder delightfully, and there was the feeling Rachel talked about: hot surge of electricity igniting her nerves and her blood on fire like gas leaking from a car. "It's perfect for us," Jonathan purred into her ear, kissing her neck and making her giggle. "Ready for it, now?"

He spoke of it as "it", as it was. She had little experience to know how to refer _it_ , but she shoved her thoughts to the back of her head and instead focused on the beginning of the loss of her innocence to her husband. It was going to be painful, but she was more than ready for it; with pain also came pleasure. Their house was isolated, on the outskirts, and it would be just the two of them consummating their marriage and their love on the green of Ireland, before the ocean and under God. Sinéad had long since removed her hairpiece, letting Jonathan slip her out of her dress, and she in turn unbuttoned his shirt and let him remove it; at the same time, she undid his pants so she could free him from the confides of his slacks.

Jonathan laid her down on the earth, capturing her lips in a soft, searing kiss as he swiftly entered her, making her cry out at the anticipated pain of losing her virginity, but soothing her down, he kissed the tops of her breasts, even the little mermaid above her left one, as he began to move in and out of her without any trouble, making them both happier than they had ever been and starting this next step of their life together in nature's embrace.

 **WHOO! I have to say, I gotta call it a work of art. XD Not to give myself credit, but after two or three years, it finally gets to have its life with the others I've published. I have no regrets, as usual, and no matter how much time passes, it stands. :D**

 **Who isn't familiar with the on-off Hollywood duo that was Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor? XD Seeing that necklace online rook my breath away as well as the story behind it. And what better than to begin the consummation of the love between Jonathan and Sinéad than on an Irish cliff, and after finishing a painting? (The actual one was based off a real one online, the name and source I no longer have, but certain aspects changed such as the side view and the creatures at the bottom of the couple)**

 **Reviews appreciated, as always.**


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